


The Sound of Silence

by Ladybug_21



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 00:28:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 19
Words: 120,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8599849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladybug_21/pseuds/Ladybug_21
Summary: In the wars against Voldemort, she gained fame as Albus Dumbledore's second-in-command; afterward, she was remembered with reverence for rebuilding Hogwarts. But there was another time, another war, when she was merely another student at Hogwarts...





	1. Prologue: Portrait

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published on FanFiction.net, beginning on October 18, 2007.
> 
> This story covers much of Minerva McGonagall's life, from her years at Hogwarts up until the end of _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows._ I've tried to keep things as chronologically accurate and plausible as possible, but I have moved events back a few years (according to the dates given on Wikipedia, at least, which cannot be relied upon in the first place if my history teachers haven't been lying to me for all these years). I began writing long before Pottermore was a thing, so this doesn't follow the official backstory for Minerva at all.
> 
> Of course, everything belongs to J.K. Rowling.

With a jolt, the witch jerked awake, as if torn from a horrifying dream. She stretched, eyes closed tightly, cursing herself for falling asleep at her desk again until her right hand suddenly hit something very hard. Craning her neck around, she frowned at a wall just a few feet to her right that most certainly was not supposed to be there. Only… She knocked on it, still frowning, trying to discern why this inexplicable wall did not extend outwards in either direction and why nothing seemed to exist to its right. Turning to her left, she was further perplexed to find another of these walls about the same distance away. With an impatient sigh, the witch turned to sit squarely in her chair, and straightened up so quickly that her spine cracked slightly.

Staring directly before her, the witch was startled to find herself at the same level as a number of portraits that she usually had to look up at to see from her desk. What was more, her desk was not in front of her. Biting her lip apprehensively, she leaned forward (if it could be called that – she had had the sudden, disorienting sensation that her state of being no longer extended to a third dimension) and peered down through her square spectacles to see her form slumped over her desk as if sleeping, a few candles burning only inches lower than they had been when she had lit them earlier that evening.

As the witch tried frantically to make her mind work – a difficult feat, as it appeared to have frozen – she felt a comforting hand on her shoulder and turned in her chair to see Albus Dumbledore smiling down at her.

'Hello, Minerva,' he said, his eyes twinkling merrily behind his half-moon spectacles.

Minerva blinked furiously, trying to make sense of everything that was happening. 'Albus! How…' She mouthed wordlessly for a few seconds, and finally mustered the courage to ask the question that would explain everything the fastest: 'Am I dead?'

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. 'Dead? Hmm… that's an interesting question, and I suppose the answer would rely entirely on your choice of perspective. As you probably have already noticed (although, given the circumstances, it might not have registered completely), your body expelled its last breath today at precisely ten hours and twenty-eight minutes in the evening. However, the fact that you and I are sitting here having this conversation in a place we both know exists as a very solid and reachable place in the material world might suggest otherwise.' He smiled kindly at the bewildered expression on the late Headmistress's face. 'To put it simply, a small portion of your soul has remained behind in this portrait to direct and support the next Headmaster or Headmistress of Hogwarts.'

'Right,' said Minerva, still quite unnerved, breathing deeply to try and regain her bearings. 'Right, so should I go get someone to, er, deal with my body, or…?' She stopped – the whole concept of being dead was still a bit much to try to deal with rationally.

'Oh, no,' said Dumbledore conversationally. 'No, I think that when you do not turn up at breakfast tomorrow, one of the teachers will have the sense to come up here to see if you are all right. As you are technically no longer the Headmistress, there will be no password to enter the office, at which point all the messy details will be taken care of by those who can take care of them.' He glanced at her. 'I assume Pomona will be taking over as Headmistress?'

'I… well, yes,' stammered Minerva, 'yes, as Deputy Headmistress I suppose she will. Which means we will need a new Herbology teacher…' For some reason, this rational conclusion calmed Minerva down a great deal, and to her surprise, a perfect candidate for the vacant position pushed its way to the foreground of her memory in the guise of a round-faced, forgetful boy whose abysmal Potions skills were more than made up for by his skill with plants…

'Excellent,' said Dumbledore, clapping his hands. 'Well, I think I shall be going back to my own portrait… Oh, and by the way, I might warn you right now that walking from portrait to portrait is a bit like walking through a sheet of ice water, or a ghost if you've ever had that chilling experience – it's rather unpleasant the first few times, but you learn to ignore it.'

A number of disappointed groans erupted from the various portraits around the room. 'Come now, Dumbledore, you've just spoiled the best part!' roared Fortescue from across the room, his corpulent, red face etched in disappointment.

'I'm merely giving a warning,' said Dumbledore politely, 'and I assure you _that_ will not change the disgruntled look that I'm sure will appear on Minerva's face the first time she tries it. They take great enjoyment out of seeing new portraits' reactions,' he explained to Minerva, 'and I'm sorry to say that not a one of them had the courtesy to warn _me_ before I tried walking into a neighbouring frame.' He smiled cheerfully at the surrounding portraits, some of whom rolled their eyes. 'And a fair warning doesn't ruin the horrible shock, does it, Severus?'

'No, it does not,' drawled the voice of Severus Snape from the portrait directly to the right of Minerva's. 'Now if you would all please just shut up, I'm trying to actually get some sleep here.'

'An excellent idea,' said Dumbledore brightly, edging towards the left edge of the frame (which Minerva now was able to differentiate from the wall she had assumed it was). 'I'm directly to your left, if you're curious. If you have any other questions or qualms about being dead, please don't hesitate to wake me up.' With a smile, he turned to step back into his portrait, his long silver hair glinting in the flickering light of the candles on the desk below.

'Albus,' said Minerva sharply. She suddenly felt rather foolish for having sat as if Stunned through all of this. Dumbledore turned and gave her a polite look. 'I'm sorry that I'm acting so…'

'Shocked? Disbelieving? Unnerved?' said Dumbledore quietly. 'Don't be ashamed of it, Minerva, you have every right to feel that way. It's a very strange thing to be dead, it takes getting used to, and it's not at all a sign of weakness to feel the way you do – it's quite a human reaction, actually.'

'But you didn't seem at all, well, affected by your death!' Minerva pointed out. 'When I spoke to you – well, your portrait, really – after you died, you seemed quite at ease.'

'I suppose the fact that I myself had arranged my own quick and painless death at the hands of a man I trusted made me much more prepared to face death than I'd imagine you feel, albeit you died a quick and painless and altogether natural death.' Dumbledore smiled kindly at his old friend.

Minerva could find nothing else to say, and instead nodded somewhat stiffly. Dumbledore, understanding that he was being excused, gave her a brief nod and wink, and stepped into the nothingness to the side of the frame and back into his own portrait.

The room was soon filled with the gentle snores of the other portraits, all of whom had fallen asleep shortly after realizing that Minerva had no intention of trying to walk into a different portrait that night. Minerva, for her part, stayed exactly where she was, staring down upon the office that had up until a few hours ago been hers, and trying to look anywhere but the desk, where her body still lay listlessly over a stack of paperwork she had been reading. The moon was a delicate sliver suspended outside the window in the inky sky; in a few hours' time, Hogwarts would be stirring, the students and teachers bustling downstairs to the Great Hall, through corridors and hallways that Minerva would never again stride through on the way to a class. The thought made her more than just a little wistful, and, staring out onto the jagged surface of the Forbidden Forest, silvery in the moonlight, Minerva let her mind drift back to the days when she herself had been just another student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…


	2. The Muggle-Born Cellist

She had never expected to become a teacher, let alone the Headmistress of a magical stronghold as renowned as Hogwarts. Growing up, Minerva's parents had noted early on that she demonstrated remarkable control over the magic she so easily was able to produce from a young age, but they were both intent on her becoming a Healer like her mother had been. The McGonagalls were an old and respected pureblood family who lived on a stately manor next to a large loch amidst the desolate hills of northern Scotland, not terribly far from where Hogwarts itself was rumoured to be located (although no one had yet been able to quite confirm that conjecture). It was in this bleak world of mist and briars that young Minerva grew up, changing the colours of wildflowers in the fields when bored and teasing the kelpie that lived in the loch. Monitored at all times by her mother's strict eye, she was always careful to brush all of the dirt off of her robes and comb the tangles out of her long, raven-black hair before coming back inside for supper.

Although Minerva had known all her life that she was going to Hogwarts, she still jumped with excitement when the owl bearing her letter arrived, running through the manor and shrieking in what her mother considered to be a most un-ladylike fashion. For the first time in her life, her parents took her to Diagon Alley, where Minerva was able to purchase all of her school supplies and new school robes. As a congratulatory gift, her father bought her a beautiful tawny owl, on the condition that she write home often; and, as the final stop on the trip, Minerva and her parents walked into Ollivander's dusty old wand shop.

'Ah,' breathed Ollivander, his silvery eyes gleaming as the wand Minerva was holding shot gold sparks across the room. 'Fourteen inches exactly, rigid but not completely inflexible. Hawthorn with unicorn hair, excellent for Transfiguration work… very good, very good…'

As the Hogwarts Express pulled slowly out of Kings Cross Station only months later, Minerva sat with her nose pressed to the window waving at her parents (who looked very strange in Muggle clothes) and felt excitement welling up inside of her, as if a new chapter of her life was beginning. She slid down onto her seat with a sigh, and at that moment the compartment door opened and a slightly apprehensive-looking boy poked his head into the compartment.

'Oh, hello,' he said nervously in a slightly-accented voice. 'Er, I was wondering, is anyone sitting there?'

Minerva shook her head, and the boy sidled into the compartment, dragging behind him his trunk and a large case. He heaved the trunk up onto the luggage rack, giving Minerva's owl a strange look as he did so, but leaned the other case carefully down on its side by his feet. Minerva watched him with interest as he straightened up with a sigh and grinned nervously at her. He had chestnut hair that waved slightly, straight eyebrows and a very straight nose, a mouth that curved naturally into a contented smile, and dark sparkling eyes.

'What is that?' asked Minerva curiously, pointing to the boy's feet.

'Cello,' he replied, and gave a small laugh. 'My parents will kill me if I don't practice between now and the holidays – they're sour enough that I won't be having any lessons for the next few months. 'Course, now that I'll be learning magic, I don't think it'll matter whether or not I become the next great cello virtuoso, d'you think?'

Minerva shook her head in amazement. 'You mean, you didn't know you'd be coming here until recently?'

The boy laughed again. 'No, of course not! No one in my family's magic at all – I'd no idea wizards and witches were even real until I got a letter from Hogwarts a few months ago, and even then it took a while for me to get properly excited, I thought maybe it was a hoax.'

'You're Muggle-born?' said Minerva eagerly, leaning forward curiously. 'I've never met anyone Muggle-born before.'

'Yes,' said the boy, sitting back and scratching his head unconcernedly. 'So, could you tell me, what exactly is a Muggle? My letter came with a pamphlet from the school saying where to find Diagon Alley and Platform Nine and Three-Quarters and such, but they never really explained what a Muggle was properly.'

'Oh,' said Minerva, who was a bit shocked that a Muggle would not even know he was one, 'well, it's just a word for a non-magic person, like your mum and dad, I suppose.'

'Then it's not a bad thing?' said the boy, who was frowning very slightly.

'Oh, no,' Minerva reassured him, 'it's just a word, like being British or French or something. It's not a bad thing at all. I'm Minerva, by the way,' she said, extending her hand, 'Minerva McGonagall.'

The boy shook her hand briefly with a small smile. 'Jeffrey Tomáš Cunningham,' he replied, 'but most people just call me Jeff.' He sat back looking slightly pleased that he had made at least one friend already. 'So, is that your owl up there?'

Minerva nodded as the tawny owl himself hooted softly, almost as though he recognized that the conversation had turned towards him. 'His name's Aluco. My dad got him for me as a present when I got my letter.'

'Wow,' said Jeff, staring up at the owl in awe. 'I saw a lot of people with owls on the platform – are they a common pet, then?'

Minerva laughed and began to explain that owls brought all the post in the wizarding world as Jeff listened on in amazement. They were deep into a comparison between wizarding transportation versus Muggle transportation – Minerva laughing as she listened to Jeff explain how bicycles and motorcars worked – when the door to the compartment slid open again, and two girls peered in.

'Hello,' said one of the girls a bit haughtily. 'Mind if we join you?'

Minerva and Jeff both nodded and scooted further towards the windows to make room for the newcomers. The girl who had spoken heaved her luggage into the luggage rack, and then turned to help her friend with her luggage. The girl who had not yet spoken smiled cautiously and took a seat next to Minerva; she had a friendly face and wispy, fly-away hair that refused to stay completely pulled back.

'I'm Augusta Witherspoon,' said the first girl, sitting down next to Jeff, 'and this is Pomona Sprout.' The girl next to Minerva gave a small wave. 'Sorry for the intrusion, but we were just thrown out of our compartment by a number of snobbish girls – all future Slytherins, by the look of it.' She sniffed a bit disdainfully.

'Er, what's a Slytherin?' asked Jeff, glancing at Minerva as if hoping his question was not too preposterous.

'What's a Slytherin?' asked Augusta, turning towards him with an incredulous look on her face. 'Didn't your parents go to Hogwarts?'

'He's Muggle-born,' explained Minerva, introducing herself and Jeff while she still had the attention of the two newcomers.

'Well, Jeff,' began Augusta, 'there are four Houses at Hogwarts, each renowned for a certain trait. Slytherins are known for being less-than-honorable…'

' "Cunning" is how I've always heard them described,' supplied Pomona diplomatically.

'… And Pomona here was just telling me that she'd most likely end up in Hufflepuff, that's where most of her family's from,' continued Augusta, 'and Hufflepuffs are – what was it? – "loyal and industrious," I think that's how my mum put it. Then there's Ravenclaw, and Ravenclaws are terribly clever…'

'That's probably where I'll end up then,' said Jeff, 'I had top marks in all my classes at my old school, even maths, which nearly everyone else did poorly in…'

'And lastly there's Gryffindor,' said Augusta a little louder, 'which is where my family has all gone, and Gryffindors are supposed to be very brave.' She puffed out her chest proudly.

'Where d'you think you'll go, Minerva?' asked Jeff, looking a bit anxious at the fact that his family hadn't come from any of the four Houses.

Minerva shrugged. 'My family's all been Gryffindors,' she said simply, 'but it's not the end of the world if you get into a different House from your family, is it? I mean, the only place where Houses really count is Quidditch, right?'

'Well, except for the House Cup, that's true,' said Pomona, 'but Quidditch isn't everything either, I honestly don't care for it much…'

'What?' said Minerva incredulously. ' _I'm_ looking forward to it, my mum's never even let me touch a broomstick for fear I'll kill myself, but Dad's taken me to games before, and if I'm not terrible at flying, I'd love to try out for my House team when we're second years…'

She stopped short at the look of bewilderment on Jeff's face. 'You don't know what Quidditch is, do you?' she sighed, and, taking the cue from the embarrassed grin on Jeff's face, she began to explain the rules of the game with Pomona and Augusta adding comments here and there.

'Weird,' said Jeff, a wide grin appearing on his face. 'So it's like football and baseball mixed together on broomsticks?' His statement was met with blank faces from the three girls.

'We wouldn't know – they're Muggle sports, aren't they?' said Augusta. Jeffrey looked shocked.

'You mean you don't even know what football is?' he asked, amazed. The three young witches shook their heads. 'Wow,' Jeff said, leaning back in his seat. 'And here I thought that everyone in Britain was mad for football…'

'Are you not from here, then?' asked Minerva, who had been wondering for some time what kind of accent the boy had. Jeff shook his head.

'My dad's British, but he met my mum in America when he was over visiting a friend he made in Italy during the Great War,' he explained. 'My mum's actually from Czechoslovakia – that's why my middle name's Czech, see – but she grew up mostly in America. We moved back to England four years ago, a while after the Depression began – Dad's a banker, so he was out of a job, the economy was so bad.' A slight shadow crossed over his face before it brightened again. 'At any rate, I think Britain's lovely, and my mum says I'm even talking like a Brit by now. But I'm still mad about baseball,' he added with a laugh.

The sky was darkening as the train sped on through forests and over lakes, a trail of steam spiralling in its wake. The food trolley came and went – 'I still haven't quite figured out this money,' grumbled Jeff as he paid the witch five Galleons for two Chocolate Frogs – and soon the train was slowing to a halt at Hogsmeade Station, puffs of steam billowing about it. Soon the corridors of the bus were filled with students talking loudly to each other as they dragged heavy trunks and owl cages towards the doors.

'See you inside, then,' called Augusta to Minerva and Jeff as she and Pomona disappeared into the crowd, Pomona giving a small wave and smile as the tide of students swept her towards the door. Minerva looked at Jeff, who raised his eyebrows, and the two edged towards the door. A voice had echoed through the train minutes before, instructing the students to leave all luggages on the train – Jeff gave a worried glance over his shoulder as he left the compartment, as if afraid his cello would be stolen the second he let it out of his eyesight.

The sky was clear and spotted with stars as Minerva and Jeff stepped off the train. A slight breeze was making the tops of the silhouetted pine trees sway, and over the excited rumblings of the crowd, they could hear a wheezy voice crying, 'First years over here, please…' Shoving their way through the crowd, Minerva and Jeff made their way across the platform to where a grouchy-looking old man stood with a growing throng of first years surrounding him. Minerva and Jeff stopped and waited in the crisp night air until the old man had apparently decided that enough students had assembled; then, turning on his heel, he lead the first years down a narrow path through the trees down to the edge of an enormous black lake.

'Careful!' hissed Jeff as Minerva lost her footing and grabbed his arm for support; righting herself, Minerva and Jeff both looked up and gasped as they gazed for the first time at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

'It's awfully pretty, isn't it?' whispered Pomona, who had just made her way through the stunned crowd towards Minerva, Augusta following behind her.

'It's even bigger than my brother Algie made it out to be,' agreed Augusta. She gestured towards a number of small boats assembled by the shore. 'I think we're supposed to get in.'

The four friends clambered into one of the boats, and as soon as the rest of the students had gotten into their own boats, the fleet started off towards the castle. Minerva stared up at it, feeling excitement mounting in her chest as she took in everything around her – the twinkling windows of the castle, the cool night breeze on her face, the splash of the water on the side of the boat…

'Whatever happens,' she said to Jeff, Augusta, and Pomona as they entered a cavern beneath the castle and climbed out of their boats onto the pebbled shore, 'no matter what Houses we all end up in, we'll still all be friends, won't we?'

Augusta made a slightly disdainful noise and said, 'Of course!' Pomona merely smiled and nodded, and Jeff grinned and winked. And, as the old gamekeeper led the first years out of the underground passageway and onto the green lawn in front of the school, Minerva could not help but smile with relief.


	3. The Transfiguration Teacher

The rest of the evening passed by in a blur for Minerva. After the first years had been marched to the front of the Great Hall, the Sorting Hat had sung its song (which outlined essentially what Augusta had already told Jeff on the train); then the Sorting itself took place, during which Minerva had barely put on the Hat when it screamed, 'GRYFFINDOR!' Sighing in some relief, Minerva had taken a seat at the Gryffindor table amidst much applause, and watched as Pomona was Sorted into Hufflepuff, and Augusta into Gryffindor. Glancing across the hall, Minerva gave a small wave and smile to Jeff, who had been placed into Ravenclaw, before Professor Dippet, the Headmaster of Hogwarts, stood and droned on a bit and the feast finally began.

After dinner, the prefects marched the first years up to the dormitories of their new Houses. Minerva and Augusta followed Augusta's brother Algie up staircases and through corridors until they at last arrived before the portrait of a fat lady dressed in a pink silk dress.

' _Molto accelerando_ ,' said Algie crisply, and the portrait swung forward to reveal a comfortable-looking circular common room filled with assorted armchairs. Minerva stifled a yawn behind her hand as Algie pointed the girls up one stairwell to their common room, and she trailed tiredly after Augusta up the stairs and into a room with several four-poster beds. Minerva spied the one at whose foot her luggage sat, and she threw herself onto the bed without even bothering to remove her robes.

'There's no way I'll ever be able to find my way around by myself,' she sighed with her eyes closed, 'we must have gone through at least six tapestries and hidden doors to get here.'

'That's not the worst of it,' yawned Augusta, who was changing into her nightgown. 'Algie says that the staircases move sometimes.' Minerva groaned and rolled over, debating whether or not she should change into her nightgown or not – she compromised by pulling off her shoes and socks before crawling under the covers, and tried not to think about what her mother would say.

'Amazing place, though,' sighed Augusta, snuggling under her own blankets. 'I wonder what our first class will be tomorrow?'

'Don't know,' muttered Minerva, nearly asleep. 'Hope it's not too difficult, though.'

'Oh, it probably will be,' said Augusta wearily, 'Algie says that…'

But whatever Algie had to say about the classes at Hogwarts Minerva never found out, for she had already fallen into a deep and dreamless sleep.

* * *

The next morning at breakfast, Minerva received quite a surprise when a middle-aged wizard with long, sweeping auburn hair, a crooked nose, and twinkling blue eyes swept down the Gryffindor table, handing out schedules. He gave Minerva a wink as he handed her her schedule, and Minerva realised that her jaw had been hanging open slightly.

'Was that who I thought it was?' she muttered to Augusta, who hastily swallowed a mouthful of scrambled eggs.

'I think so,' Augusta said breathlessly. 'I had no idea he taught at Hogwarts!'

'It _is_ rather amazing, isn't it?' said a boy sitting across the table from them. 'Albus Dumbledore, one of our teachers! He discovered the twelve uses of dragon blood, you know,' he added to Minerva and Augusta.

'I know that,' said Augusta a bit scornfully, 'everyone knows that! Unless you're a Muggle-born, of course, which I am not.'

'Sorry, didn't mean to offend you…' said the boy breezily. He held out a hand with a friendly smile. 'Paul Longbottom, by the way. I'm a second year, and I'm guessing you're both first years?' He raised an eyebrow at Augusta, who looked highly affronted at this accurate assumption and nodded stiffly. 'Well, if you need help finding your classes, I'd be glad to point you in the right direction after breakfast.'

Augusta, obviously quite incensed at what Minerva could only assume she perceived to be a slur to her intelligence, opened her mouth to refuse this offer, but Minerva quickly thrust her schedule at Paul. 'We have Transfiguration first – do you know where that is?'

'Transfiguration, eh?' Paul winked. 'No doubt you'll like _that_ class, your teacher will make sure of that.' Rising from the table, he beckoned to the two girls. 'C'mon, I'll show you to the classroom.'

Minerva and Augusta arrived at the Transfiguration classroom a few minutes before the rest of the class, and took two desks next to each other at the front. As the rest of the class filed in, chattering excitedly at the prospect of their first class, Minerva anxiously rolled her new wand between her fingers, a bit nervous about using a wand for the first time. The classroom door opened for a final time, and a sudden hush fell over the classroom; both Minerva and Augusta turned round in their seats to see what had happened. The next second, whispers broke out amongst the students as Albus Dumbledore strode to the front of his classroom and surveyed the class, positively beaming.

'Welcome,' he said, spreading out his arms, and although he did not raise his voice, the whispers immediately fell to the wayside. 'I am very pleased to have the honour of teaching your first ever class at Hogwarts. My name is Albus Dumbledore, and I teach Transfiguration here at Hogwarts. Now, Transfiguration is one of the most difficult subjects you will be learning here, and I trust that everyone will work hard and keep up with their schoolwork.' His eyes twinkled as they skimmed the class, almost as if he already knew which students would be turning in their first papers late. The next moment, his face grew very serious. 'I regret to say that as Transfiguration can be a dangerous subject, those who do not follow instructions and endanger the well-being of other students will be asked to leave and will not be invited back,' he said gravely. The students glanced nervously at each other, but before they had time to break out into anxious muttering again, the smile had returned to Dumbledore's face and he clapped his hands. 'However, I trust you all will act responsibly, and so, without further ado, please take out your parchment and inkwells!'

With a wave of his wand, notes appeared on the board. As they bent down to pull their supplies from their bags, Augusta whispered, 'I'm already nervous – I can tell I'm going to be absolute rubbish at this!'

Minerva shrugged. 'You never know,' she said fairly, remembering what Ollivander had said about her wand. _Excellent for Transfiguration work_ … well, she hoped that he was right, she certainly didn't want to make a fool of herself in her first class, especially one being taught by possibly the most famous and respected wizard of the age.

Half an hour of notes later, the students were asked to pair up and try to turn a match into a needle. As Minerva moved over to Augusta's desk, she saw Jeff weaving through the desks towards her.

'Hey, Minerva!' he said, and stopped short when he saw Augusta. 'Oh, sorry, never mind…' he muttered.

'Jeff, what are you doing here?' asked Minerva, pleasantly surprised.

'Gryffindors and Ravenclaws have Transfiguration together, didn't it say that on your schedule?' said Jeff as Minerva pulled her schedule from inside her robes and saw that she had indeed missed a line.

'Oh. Well, I'm really sorry Jeff, but I already said I'd be partners with Augusta… maybe next time?'

'Sure, no problem,' said Jeff, trying to smile but looking slightly hurt nonetheless as he moved back towards his desk in search of a partner. Augusta gave a small sniff.

'What?' asked Minerva, turning back towards her.

'Nothing,' said Augusta loftily. 'Just, you do know that you're supposed to be loyal to Gryffindor House above all else, don't you?'

Minerva stared. 'And what's that supposed to mean, I can't be friends with a Ravenclaw?'

'Well, of course you can be friends,' said Augusta, still in a rather condescending tone. 'I just mean that you shouldn't grow too attached to people outside your House – things could get nasty when the competition between Houses starts in earnest.'

Minerva opened her mouth to retort, but just then Professor Dumbledore swept by, and the two both began to try to make their matches turn into needles.

'Well done!' cried Professor Dumbledore from the other end of the room, and the entire class looked up to see what was going on. Professor Dumbledore was holding up a match that had gone pointy at one end and somewhat silver all up and down, and was beaming at none other than Jeff, who was blushing slightly. 'This is as far as I would expect you to get today, and Mr Cunningham has done an exemplary job in a much shorter time than I would have anticipated. Ten points to Ravenclaw!'

'See?' muttered Augusta as she and Minerva again bent down over their own matches. 'It's people like him that'll ruin all of our chances of winning the House Cup – how do you feel about _that_?!'

'Couldn't care less,' mumbled Minerva, concentrating as hard as she could as she swished her wand over her needle. To her amazement, it turned slightly silver and pointy.

'You did it!' said Augusta in a hushed voice.

'Yes,' agreed Minerva, frowning, 'but it doesn't really look much like a needle, does it?' She swished her wand again, concentrating as hard as she could on what a needle was supposed to look like. Nothing happened. She tried it again. Still nothing.

'Ah, I see Miss McGonagall has managed to transform her match as well,' said Professor Dumbledore, appearing next to the desk just as Minerva gave her wand a final flick and her match thinned out into what looked much more like a needle, complete with an eyehole at the end.

Professor Dumbledore raised his eyebrows, picked up the needle, and examined it carefully. Minerva suddenly noticed that the class had suddenly become completely silent and was watching with baited breath.

Finally, Dumbledore placed the needle on the desk in front of Minerva and gave the witch a swift, searching glance that gave her the slightly uneasy sensation that he could read her mind. 'I have never had a student transform a match completely into a needle during the first lesson before today,' he said softly. 'Excellent work, Miss McGonagall – ten points to Gryffindor.' With a small smile, he turned and began to walk through the classroom again, robes billowing behind him.

'How did you do it?' asked Augusta, flabbergasted, as she poked at her own needle with her wand in frustration.

Minerva shrugged. 'I don't know, I just… did it,' she said. She glanced across the room to where Jeff was coaching his partner – for a split second, he looked up, and his eyes flashed when they met Minerva's.

'I mean, you didn't do it as quickly as Cunningham did, but you did it better,' Augusta was still saying, swishing her wand from side to side and furrowing her brow as she tried to make her match transform. 'Ah, well,' she sighed, finally sitting down and prodding her match across the desk with the end of her wand in resignation. 'At least now you'll be able to make up for all the points he's obviously going to win for Ravenclaw.'

'It doesn't matter,' said Minerva in embarrassment, but she couldn't shake off the angry look she had seen in Jeff's eyes.

* * *

By lunchtime, it seemed that the news of the two genius first years had spread all through the school. A pair of sixth years sat down across from Minerva and Augusta as Minerva was helping herself to some mashed potatoes and began asking her if she had studied Transfiguration at home and if Dumbledore was really going to switch her up to the next level. Minerva nearly choked on the potatoes in her mouth and swallowed them hastily, trying not to laugh.

'Of course not! Who on earth said that?!' she sputtered. Glancing across the Great Hall, she saw that Jeff was undergoing similar questioning from his fellow Ravenclaws. Excusing herself, she crossed the hall and tapped Jeff on the shoulder.

'What in the name of Merlin is going on?' she hissed in his ear, trying not to laugh at the bemused Ravenclaws still eyeing Jeff appraisingly. Jeff too excused himself from the table and lead Minerva out into the entrance hall.

'So,' he said, turning to her and leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, 'well done today in Transfiguration.' He gave Minerva a slight smile that did not quite reach his eyes.

'Thanks, you too,' replied Minerva. 'How does everyone know about it, though? You'd think we'd just discovered a new use for boomslang skin with the way everyone's talking.'

Jeff shrugged, his eyes still a bit icy. 'Apparently, someone overheard Professor Dumbledore telling one of the other teachers about you, and all sorts of rumours started flying about the school. I suppose I only got thrown in as an aside by the other students in our class,' he added a bit bitterly.

'What?' said Minerva, a bit stunned that Dumbledore had been impressed enough to tell other teachers about her accomplishment. A second later, Jeff's tone of voice registered. 'Oh, no, Jeff, I mean, you were the first to get it right, and Professor Dumbledore said he'd never seen anyone transform their match that far so fast, I'm sure he told the other teacher about you too…'

'Yeah, well, good for him,' said Jeff nastily. 'I'll see you around, McGonagall.' And without another word, he turned on his heel and stormed back into the Great Hall, leaving a bewildered Minerva staring after him.

'What's going on?' asked Augusta, pulling her bag over her shoulder as she strode up to Minerva.

'I have no idea,' replied Minerva honestly. 'Double Herbology with the Hufflepuffs next – let's get down to the greenhouses…'

'Augusta! Minerva!' panted Pomona, skidding to a halt before them. 'Hi!' She beamed, then quickly frowned. 'Minerva, what's wrong?'

'Nothing,' Minerva said, turning away, but the concerned look on Pomona's face made her sigh and tell her friends everything what had just happened.

'Do you think he's mad at me?' she ended. 'I mean, I don't know what I could have done…'

'Oh, Minerva,' sighed Pomona as they entered the greenhouses. 'Isn't it obvious? He's just jealous that you stole the spotlight from him. I mean, didn't you hear him on the Hogwarts Express – he said he'd always been top of his class, and he probably expected things to stay that way, and then you outshone him just when he thought he'd proven to himself that he was, as always, the best.'

'Yes, but…' Minerva blinked. 'But _he_ managed to do it first, not I, and he didn't even seem to need to work at it, it just _worked_ for him…'

'But that's not the point, Minerva,' said Pomona gently, pulling on her gloves. 'He's used to not having to work, and that's where he's going to get in trouble. Maybe you didn't get the spell as quickly, but you got it _better_ than him, and that's because you're willing to work harder than he is.'

'Just don't worry about it,' said Augusta bracingly. 'If Jeff wants to be a prat, then that's his problem, not yours.'

But Minerva could not help but feel hurt, and Herbology did not improve her mood – she found she had no skill whatsoever with the plants around her. Two hours later, covered with soil and arms aching, Minerva trudged irritably back to the Gryffindor common room, hoping with all her heart that none of her other classes would be as bad as Herbology. Her mood had not been improved by the fact that Pomona and Augusta had both found the subject to be relatively easy.

However, the next day she was pleased to find that Defence Against the Dark Arts was quite within her scope (she earned ten points for Gryffindor from Professor Merrythought within the first five minutes), and in Potions she produced such a good boil-curing potion that the Potions Master, a very fat man with a walrus moustache named Professor Slughorn, invited Minerva to a little party in his rooms (Minerva stared at him in bewilderment until he hastily clarified, 'Oh, nothing to worry about, my dear, just a little gathering betwixt the elite students of the school, you know…')

Charms also came easily to Minerva, although she felt rather badly about this, as Augusta seemed to be having more than her fair share of trouble with it.

'I just… can't… make… this… work…' she muttered under her breath as she flicked her wand desperately at the feather she was supposed to be levitating – Minerva, who had successfully made her feather rise into the air on her second try, could only watch on in sympathy.

But, as fascinating as all of her new classes were (with the obvious exception of History of Magic, during which not even the most fervent student could stay awake), Minerva was still troubled by the fact that Jeff refused to talk to her. The first week came and went, and then a second. Finally, during the third week, Minerva decided that if she ever wanted to stop feeling guilty for something she was not entirely sure she had done, she would have to take matters into her own hands and talk to Jeff herself.

* * *

As she trudged down from the Astronomy Tower one night, stifling a yawn, Minerva spotted a large group of students walking out of what she presumed was a teacher's office. A second later, out of the office walked the enormous Slughorn, his arm around the shoulders of none other than Jeff.

'I say, my boy,' Slughorn was saying jovially, 'all the other teachers tell me you do such a fine job in all your classes, I find it hard to believe that you're completely Muggle-born… are you quite sure you don't have some magical blood in your roots?' He stopped short when he saw Jeff's face harden, and followed the boy's eyes to where Minerva stood.

'Minerva!' boomed Slughorn, striding forward. 'So sorry we didn't see you tonight – I've just been having a lovely conversation with this young fellow, Mr Jeffrey Tomáš Cunningham…'

'We've met,' said Jeff icily. 'Hello, Augusta!' he called in a normal voice, grinning as he waved over Minerva's head at Augusta, who waved back, yawning.

'Sorry, Professor… Astrology…' Minerva mumbled, not wanting to admit that she had completely forgotten about Slughorn's invitation to his party, nor that she had not been intending to go in the first place. She could not quite contain a second yawn. Slughorn smiled understandingly.

'Ah, yes, Astrology – a fascinating subject, but no doubt draining,' he said sympathetically. 'And no wonder – look at the time! To bed with both of you, chop chop!' Waving his hands cheerfully in their direction, Slughorn retreated back into his office, leaving Minerva and Jeff standing in a very awkward silence until Jeff turned on his heel and began to stride away down the corridor.

'Jeff!' called Minerva, racing after him. 'Jeff, will you just talk to me?'

Jeff glanced sideways at Minerva, but did not slow his pace. 'Yeah, I guess,' he said in a less-than-friendly tone. 'What d'you want?'

'Hmm… maybe to know what I did wrong?' said Minerva sarcastically. 'You haven't said a word to me since our first day of school, and, well, after talking to you on the Hogwarts Express, I'd thought that we were…'

'Well, you thought wrong, then, didn't you?'

'Jeff, what's wrong with you? You're being perfectly friendly towards Augusta and Pomona – what did I do?!'

Jeff spun around so quickly that several books spilled out of his bag. 'Oh, let's see,' he shouted, pink splotches appearing on his cheeks. 'Only made me look like an idiot before the rest of the school in our first ever class, only became every teacher's favourite pet, only made everyone believe that so-called "purebloods" are worth more than doddering Muggle-borns like me! Well, I'm sorry, Minerva, but if you wanted me for a friend, you shouldn't have done everything possible to humiliate me like this!'

Minerva mouthed wordlessly for a few seconds. 'How _dare_ you of accusing me of trying to undermine you just because you're a Muggle-born!' she hissed. 'I'm sorry to see it's become a crime to do your best… and, for your information, I'm terrible at Herbology – if you want to accuse anyone of being a teacher's pet in that class, it's Pomona, not me…'

'Yeah, well you certainly seem to have Dumbledore completely won over, from the way he praises your Transfiguration work.' Jeff pushed through a hidden doorway rather violently and started down another corridor. 'He can't seem to get enough of you, loves it when you manage to transform a beetle into a button before the rest of the class even gets the wand movement down, it's sickening how much he adores you, McGonagall. He'll probably want to marry you next or something, I'll be waiting to hear when he pops the question…' He stopped and smirked at the enraged witch.

Minerva took a step forward, pulling out her wand as she did so, but before she could even begin to mentally go through the meagre list of hexes they had discussed in Defence Against the Dark Arts, the door to her right flew open. Jeff's jaw dropped in mortification – silhouetted in the doorframe of his office was none other than the long-bearded form of Albus Dumbledore himself.

'Professor!' gasped Minerva, her arm dropping immediately to her side in embarrassment.

'Good evening, you two,' said Dumbledore pleasantly, surveying them through his glasses. 'I will refrain from asking why your wand is out right now, Miss McGonagall, and instead ask you both to go to your respective dormitories quickly and _quietly_ – it _is_ after hours, I'm afraid to tell you, and I may be forced to give you both detentions if I catch you wandering about again.' He stooped down and picked up a few of Jeff's fallen books, stopping when he picked up a newspaper. 'Is this yours, Mr Cunningham?' he asked, a shadow passing over his face.

'Er, yes, Professor,' mumbled Jeff in embarrassment, taking his books from Dumbledore and tucking them into his bag. 'My uncle from the States sent it to me… article in it he thought I'd be interested in…'

'Hm, baseball, by the looks of it,' said Dumbledore, flipping open the paper and scanning the bottom page. The frown on his face deepened, and he briefly flipped the paper open to the middle – Minerva caught a glimpse of the front page and was slightly surprised to see a number of photographs that did not seem to be moving.

'Merlin's beard… Gellert…' whispered Dumbledore as his eyes skimmed the article, concern etching his face. He glanced back up at Jeff. 'Mr Cunningham, when you are done with this paper, would you mind very much bringing it to my office?'

Jeff shook his head. 'Take it, I'm done with it,' he said.

'Thank you very much,' said Dumbledore, shooting Jeff a small smile. 'And now, off to bed with both of you. Good night!' With a snap, the Transfiguration professor shut the door behind him, the golden square of light that had streamed from his office door immediately evaporating.

'What was he looking at?' whispered Minerva, completely forgetting the fact that she had been intending to jinx Jeff a few moments before.

'Dunno,' said Jeff, brow furrowed and arms crossed pensively. 'I think there was some article about Germany or something, but I don't see why that would really interest him…' He shook himself, and once again raised his nose imperiously. 'Well, I suppose it was lucky you were here with me, McGonagall – if I hadn't been with Dumbledore's _pet_ , I'm sure I would have gotten detention. But I really can't expect my luck to last, so I'm going to bed.'

And with that he turned on his heel and strode away. Minerva glared after him with her wand clutched in her hand and a slight hissing noise escaping from her involuntarily before she, too, turned on her heel and made her way up stairwells and through tapestries back to the Gryffindor dormitories.


	4. Of Toads and Brooms

Professor Dumbledore was not at the staff table the next morning, and Minerva had a sneaking suspicion that this was due to the newspaper article he had taken from Jeff the night before. When she asked Professor Merrythought before Defence Against the Dark Arts, the witch frowned and said, 'I'm sure it's none of your business what Professor Dumbledore leaves the school for, Miss McGonagall – he's a very busy man, and if he goes to the Ministry for a day, it's surely for some good reason that you should nevertheless not concern yourself with.'

But when Professor Dumbledore returned the next day, Minerva could not help but overhear him talking to Professor Slughorn the next day outside the staffroom.

'Most likely under the Imperius Curse; the article said he was rather reluctant to make the decision, but his son joined Hitler's cause too, I wouldn't be surprised if they both were Imperiused at some point or another,' Dumbledore was saying solemnly, the usual twinkle completely gone from his eyes. 'Hitler has appointed himself _Führer und Reichkanzler_ of Germany now, and I have no doubt that more trouble lies ahead, especially when one considers the incident that led to the Japanese invasion of Manchuria…' He stopped when he spotted Minerva. 'What are you doing, Miss McGonagall?'

'Just writing down my Potions homework in my planner,' said Minerva innocently.

'How very organized of you!' chortled Slughorn, beaming at her. 'I always have said that the best kind of student is an organized student, and Minerva here certainly proves that point! By the way,' he added, winking, 'will you be coming to the Slug Club's next little get-together?'

Minerva could have sworn she saw Dumbledore's face tighten in displeasure for a moment, and she wondered if he knew how awkward the Slug Club made things between friends. 'Erm, sorry, Professor, but I told my friends I'd work with them on Charms homework, we have a rather long essay to finish,' she mumbled, improvising.

Slughorn gave an understanding smile and said, 'Oh, but surely you'll be able to drop in for a bit…?'

'I'll… I'll do my best to come by, as long as my friends are all right with their homework first,' sighed Minerva. As she turned to leave, she could have sworn that Professor Dumbledore gave her the slightest wink.

For fear that Slughorn would realise that Minerva was deliberately avoiding his parties (and Jeff too), she took it upon herself to organise the Charms study session that she had invented as an excuse. 'Goodness knows, I'll need it,' sighed Augusta, who was still doing abysmally in Charms. And so after dinner, the two heaved their school bags over their shoulders and marched down to the Library.

Pomona was waiting at a table, reading her Astrology textbook with a worried look on her face. She looked up and smiled when Minerva and Augusta sat down. 'Thank goodness you're here – I don't understand _any_ of this!' she whispered.

'I'll help you with Astrology as long as you help me with Herbology,' said Minerva, 'and we'll both help Augusta with Charms – fair enough?'

' _Hem, hem_.'

All three girls turned around to find a plump little girl with a velvet bow in her hair and a smug expression on her face standing behind them. Minerva frowned slightly – she recognised the girl as a Slytherin from her Potions class, and was rather suspicious of the sickly sweet way she talked to everyone, as if she was trying to cover a foul odour with far too much perfume.

'Hello,' the girl simpered in a high-pitched, girlish voice. 'My name is Dolores Jane Umbridge. I don't think we've met?'

'Minerva McGonagall,' replied Minerva, deciding that a little courtesy couldn't hurt since she could be completely wrong about the girl (although she doubted it). Although Pomona and Augusta both introduced themselves as well, the squat Slytherin girl did not even spare a glance for them – Minerva was unpleasantly reminded of Slughorn's way of making everyone but his Slug Club students feel invisible.

'Splendid,' said Umbridge with a smile that more resembled a frog about to eat a fly. 'Now, I know I'm not in your Transfiguration class, Minerva (you don't mind if I call you Minerva, do you, now that we're friends?) but everyone says that you're the best student in the year.'

'Do they?' said Minerva roughly, not liking at all where this conversation appeared to be going.

'Oh, yes, even Dumbledore is highly impressed… oh, I'm sorry, _Professor_ Dumbledore.' She gave a revolting little giggle. 'Well, as I was saying, everyone says you're quite good at Transfiguration, and I seem to have a slight problem in that I haven't finished my Transfiguration essay.'

'Oh?' Minerva raised an eyebrow. 'Then perhaps you'd like to come study with us?' She was very much hoping that the girl would say no, as her refusal to acknowledge Augusta and Pomona was not making the tense atmosphere any better.

The girl's smile widened. 'I don't think you're quite understanding the situation, Minerva,' she said sweetly. 'You see, I asked you with the intention of not having to do any work myself tonight.'

Minerva stared at her. 'So you want me to do your homework for you, is that it?' she said finally, disgusted.

'Why, yes, I suppose you could put it that way if you really wanted to…'

'No.'

Umbridge looked as though she had been slapped in the face. 'Excuse me?' she said, her voice losing some of its girlish giggle immediately.

'I'm sorry, Umbridge, but I wouldn't let even my closest friends copy my work, and that's my final word. Besides, do you really think that Professor Dumbledore wouldn't realise that I had done the work for you?' Minerva watched in satisfaction as the girl mouthed in wordless anger, the bow in her mousy hair shuddering. 'You have my answer, so if that's all, my friends and I have some homework to finish.'

Umbridge leaned forward, her simpering smile suddenly replaced by a very ugly look. 'Just you wait, Minerva McGonagall,' she whispered. 'My father's a friend of the Minister of Magic, and when I tell him that you bullied me…'

'Bullied _you_?' Minerva raised an eyebrow. 'Isn't that just a little bit hypocritical? And what's your father going to do, ask the Minister to have me expelled for following the rules? Faulty logic, there…' Augusta and Pomona laughed.

'You'll regret this day, McGonagall,' hissed Umbridge, pointing at Minerva and shaking in rage. 'One day I will make you regret that you ever refused to do what Dolores Umbridge told you to do!' And turning on her heel, she stalked out of the Library, nose in the air.

'All right, then,' said Augusta airily, pulling out her books and her wand. 'Do you think if I aimed carefully enough, I could hit her with a hex from here…?'

'Oh, don't even bother worrying about her,' snorted Pomona, 'I wouldn't say she's worth it. One of those power-hungry people who, fortunately enough, is about as bright as a Confunded goldfish, in my opinion.'

'I take it you meant it about not letting us copy your work?' asked Augusta cautiously. Minerva shot her an intimidating glare.

'Every word,' she said. Augusta scowled. 'Oh, come on, how else are you going to learn the material?'

'Your train of logic is infuriatingly clear, Minerva,' grumbled Augusta, flipping open her Charms book.

It was almost nine o'clock at night when the girls finally finished studying, each feeling somewhat more confident with her area of trouble. As Minerva hurried back up to Gryffindor Tower, she thought she heard something coming from the Transfiguration classroom. Telling Augusta that she would catch up with her in a minute, Minerva doubled back and crept down the corridor.

The door to the classroom was slightly ajar, and, practically holding her breath so as to be absolutely silent, Minerva leaned her eye up to the slit of light. Jeff was seated inside with a look of relaxed concentration on his face, his eyes bright and filled with life and energy as the reverberating cello sang at his touch. After weeks of animosity from the boy she had thought would be her friend, Minerva found it startling to see him so at ease. She closed her eyes and leaned against the wall next to the door, listening for a moment to the rich beauty of the music; then, feeling suddenly very awkward, as if she was overhearing a private conversation, she ran as quietly as she could down the corridor and back up the stairs.

* * *

The rest of Minerva's first year passed by without event. Meeting Augusta and Pomona in the Library after dinner to study became a nightly routine, though the three witches were soon in the habit of talking more than studying when they met in the evenings. More than once they were thrown out of the Library for too much giggling – Minerva was once even threatened with detention by the testy old librarian, Madam Creese, when she burst out laughing at a story Pomona had just told and could not stop. And, although Slughorn never stopped asking Minerva to attend his Slug Club parties, she always managed to find some excuse not to go – the thought of an elitist club to which her friends were not invited made her nostrils flare with anger.

To her great annoyance, Dolores Jane Umbridge had also made it a point of leeching onto Minerva, talking to her as though they were best friends whenever they were around other people while meanwhile shooting her looks of evil satisfaction. Potions became a nightmare between Slughorn's constant invitations to Slug Club parties and Umbridge's insistence on staying within a three-foot diameter of Minerva through the whole class – Minerva suspected that Umbridge was acting this way not only to pay Minerva back, but also to try to get Slughorn's attention so she could join the Slug Club and meet the rich and famous that Slughorn knew.

Before she knew it, Minerva was back on the train home for the summer holidays. Leaning against the window as Pomona and Augusta traded Chocolate Frog cards, she caught a last glimpse of Hogwarts Castle before the train turned a corner and the view was obscured by a cloud of billowing smoke.

'I still can't believe I passed my Charms exam,' Augusta was saying when Minerva turned around to see what she had missed while looking out the window. 'It's all thanks to you, Minerva.'

'And Pomona, too,' added Minerva, but Pomona shook her head.

'Come on, Minerva, you know I'm not nearly as good at Charms as you,' she said candidly. 'Half the time when you were correcting Augusta, I realised that I had been doing the wand motion completely wrong.'

'Yes, well, I certainly would have failed Herbology without you,' sighed Minerva.

'Well,' snorted Augusta, 'I'm sure your Transfiguration scores would have more than made up for it – what did you get, 110 percent?'

Minerva blushed slightly in embarrassment – Professor Dumbledore had actually given her 120. Fortunately, neither of her friends noticed.

'Remember when we first met on this train, back at the start of the year?' sighed Pomona nostalgically.

'And Jeff was toting around that ridiculous cello…' Augusta stopped short. 'Sorry,' she muttered.

'What?' said Minerva.

'Just… well…'

'If it's about Jeff, I'm perfectly fine with you talking about him – it's obvious he's never going to speak to me again, so I've decided that I'll play his game and ignore his existence as well. In fact, I probably should have taken this attitude when he first started, except that I was foolish enough to hope for forgiveness for something I didn't even do.'

'Well, you might earn it yet, I think he's done being hurt that you've beaten him in every subject, except Herbology, of course,' said Pomona. 'By now, my guess is it's just a matter of pride – he doesn't want to have to come and apologise to you, not after he's spent so much time and energy being angry with you. I think he's hoping you'll approach him first.'

'Fat chance of that,' Minerva sniffed, trying not to feel too superior. She knew that she had scored above everyone else in Transfiguration and Defence Against the Dark Arts, but she also knew that she and Jeff were about even in every other subject, especially Potions (which Jeff was exceptionally good at), and she was certainly not about to go talk to him after he had been so rude to her for the entire year.

'So,' said Pomona after a long and somewhat awkward silence, 'are you still planning to try out for the Quidditch team next year, Minerva?'

Minerva leaned back in her seat and felt a genuine grin spread across her face. 'Oh, yes, if I can convince my mother to buy me a broom, that is – that'll be the hardest part.'

'I don't see how you can do it,' said Augusta with a shudder, 'it's so scary being way up there… if I ever have children, or even grandchildren, I won't let them anywhere near brooms for a long while…'

But Minerva was already reliving her first time on a broom. The Gryffindor first years had been joined by the Slytherins for their first lessons, and she had had to endure Abraxas Malfoy's boasts about how well he flew back at home on his expensive broomstick all the way down to the lawns. Although she had felt a little nervous, the second the broom had leapt into her hand at the command of 'UP!' she had felt a sudden urge to do something reckless, something dangerous – and when she kicked off into the air a moment later, the wind streaming through her hair and the people still on the ground shrinking into ant-sized specks, she felt something rise up within her, a sort of freedom that she had never felt before. With a whoop of delight, she had even dared a somersault in the air before zooming downwards at breakneck speed to race a bewildered Abraxas Malfoy back to the ground, and, to even her own surprise, winning.

'You've honestly never flown before?' Augusta had croaked weakly as Minerva slid off her broom, panting slightly in exhilaration. 'My brother Algie has been flying all his life, and I've _never_ seen him do stuff so reckless before in the air.'

Minerva had just shrugged and laughed, feeling for all the world like she had just broken out of a prison she had never known she lived in.

* * *

And so, after many good-byes on the platform at Kings Cross Station and a rather uncomfortable side-by-side Apparition back home, Minerva cautiously broached the subject with her parents.

'Dad?' she said after dinner her first night home, as her father sat by the fire reading the _Daily Prophet_ with his glasses perched on the end of his bony nose. Aeneas McGonagall glanced up at his only child, sighed, and folded the paper.

'Yes, Minerva?' he said patiently in his deep voice. He could tell something was bothering his daughter by the way she was gnawing on her lower lip.

'Well…' Minerva thought carefully – she knew that her father would be more inclined to give her a broom than her mother ever would, but she still knew she would have to tread cautiously. 'I've already told you about my two best friends at Hogwarts, but, you know, I really would like to get the chance to meet more people, and I was thinking a good way to do so would be to…' She sighed, and threw caution to the winds. 'Look, Dad, we had a few flying lessons, and I really like it. And, I'll try not to boast, but I'm really _good_ at it, even the stuck-up Slytherins didn't have anything to say after they saw me fly for the first time. So I want to try out for the Gryffindor Quidditch team.'

There. She had said it. Minerva folded her arms stubbornly across her chest and waited for her father's verdict.

Aeneas sighed and ran his hand through his thick black hair. Placing the newspaper on the table beside his armchair, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and placing his hands together with just the fingertips touching.

'So,' he said after a long moment, glancing at his daughter, 'I suppose that means we'll have to get you a broom.' It was not a question. Minerva beamed and threw herself into her father's arms, laughing.

'What is going on?' Alexia McGonagall, Minerva's mother, had just appeared at the door, her arms akimbo and a very severe expression on her face.

'Minerva's going to try out for the Quidditch team,' said Aeneas, standing up and looking his wife straight in the eye. 'And I've just agreed to get her a broom.'

Alexia's jaw dropped slightly. 'She most certainly is _not_ going to try out for the Quidditch team!' she said angrily, walking around her husband and placing one hand firmly on Minerva's shoulder. 'What happens if she gets hurt? What happens if practice and games bring her grades down?'

'Alexia, she got 120 percent on her Transfiguration exam,' sighed Aeneas. ' _Transfiguration_ , which is probably the most difficult subject in the entire magical realm… and not only that, but do you know who her teacher was? Albus Dumbledore. Now there, if the greatest genius of our time thinks our girl is good enough at magic to get 120 percent on his exam, she must be doing all right studies-wise. So I honestly think…'

' _No_ ,' said Alexia again, glaring sternly at her husband and steering Minerva out of the room.

Despite her mother's obvious opposition, Minerva's father went out to Diagon Alley and got her a brand new Silver Arrow broomstick the next day. The two spent most of the summer up in the air, Aeneas coaching his daughter through the finer aspects of Chasing and tossing a Quaffle around for her to catch.

'You know, I really don't see why your mother never wanted you to play before, you do have quite a knack for the game,' said Aeneas proudly one day as they made their way on foot back to the manor.

Minerva only shrugged. 'Let's just hope I'm good enough,' she said realistically, adjusting her broomstick on her shoulder.

Aeneas put a hand on Minerva's shoulder to stop her and knelt down so that his face was level with hers. 'Now, listen here, lassie,' he said, his dark eyes warm but serious. 'If you put your heart into this and work as hard at it as you do everything else, I know you'll be able to make the team. And if you don't, you don't, and there's always next year. That's just the way things work out sometimes.' He smiled and kissed her lovingly on the forehead. 'Just make sure you keep your studies up too,' he added as he rose to his feet and they continued walking. 'Your mother will have my head if your grades drop because of Quidditch…'


	5. The Chaser and the Beater

Minerva's summer had been so filled with Quidditch that she was caught off her guard when her mother asked her one night if she had packed for school. After dashing back to her room and throwing all of her belongings pell-nell into her trunk, Minerva could barely sleep, she was so excited to be going back to Hogwarts. Early the next day, she and her parents Apparated to Kings Cross and Minerva soon found herself back on the Hogwarts Express with her friends, listening to Pomona talk about her summer trip to the Amazon rainforest in Brazil and the exotic plants she had seen there.

'So your dad let you get a broom?' said Augusta eagerly, eyeing Minerva's Silver Arrow in admiration. 'You're really going to try out, then?'

'You're not the only one,' said Pomona, who by this point was skimming a copy of _Witch Weekly_. 'I saw Jeff Cunningham in a compartment showing off his new broom to a bunch of Ravenclaws. He looked extremely smug about it, too.'

'Idiot,' said Augusta scornfully. 'You'd better win the Quidditch Cup, Minerva, just to show him up for having been such a blithering fool all last year.'

'Excuse me!' said Pomona in a mock-insulted voice, looking up from her magazine. 'What about Hufflepuff?'

'Oh, come on, Pomona,' said Augusta impatiently, 'you saw how Slytherin flattened them last year – at least Gryffindor might have a chance, and with Minerva playing, you should at least support the Gryffindor team!'

'Well, let's see if I actually make the team or not,' mumbled Minerva, knowing it was too early to begin feeling nervous about tryouts but doing so anyway.

'You will,' said Augusta confidently. 'If you fly anything like you did during class, you will.'

And, somewhat to Minerva's surprise, Augusta was completely right. One Saturday afternoon, Minerva burst into the Gryffindor common room, slightly damp because of the unexpected drizzle that had begun in the middle of tryouts, and rushed over to the table where Augusta was reading up on goblin wars (a lecture from History of Magic that she and Minerva had spent playing hangman on the corner of a scrap of parchment).

'I did it!' breathed Minerva excitedly, her eyes gleaming. 'Chaser. Only second year to make the Gryffindor team.'

'Brilliant!' said Augusta, snapping _A History of Magic_ closed and ignoring the fact that water was dripping from the ends of Minerva's hair onto her notes. 'Well, I hope you train hard – I don't mean to be competitive, but I would _really_ love to beat Slytherin in at least Quidditch this year… but I suppose this means that practice will cut into our study sessions?' Her face fell.

'It should only be a few nights a week,' said Minerva hastily, 'and we can work on Charms in the common room even after the Library closes. You'll just have to help me with Herbology.'

But all of Minerva's classes, Herbology included, somehow seemed easier this year than the year previous, and Minerva threw herself instead into Quidditch practice, training hard every session until she and her fellow Chasers functioned so well together that it was almost as if they could read each other's minds. Tensions grew high throughout the school as the first match of the year – Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw – drew nearer. Professor Dumbledore decided to ignore the fact that Minerva was doing homework for her other classes during Transfiguration (and, in truth, she was so far ahead of the rest of the class that it did not really matter), while Professor Merrythought, who was the Head of Ravenclaw House, scowled darkly every time Minerva raised her hand to answer a question during Defence Against the Dark Arts in the week proceeding the match. Studying fell to the wayside as the Gryffindor team was practicing almost every night, and Minerva began to throw all pretence of interest to the winds and sleep through History of Magic (which, to her relief, Professor Binns did not even seem to notice).

The day of the match, Minerva woke up with butterflies in her stomach. The sky outside her window was a sulky gray and threatened rain all through breakfast, during which Augusta forced Minerva to eat at least one piece of toast, and Pomona came over from the Hufflepuff table to wish her luck. Smiling weakly, Minerva thanked both of her friends and went down to the Quidditch pitch early to avoid having to speak to people. Half an hour later, she and her team mates had changed into their robes and were walking out onto the pitch, the roar of the crowd distant in Minerva's ears. Her stomach lurched in a combination of anxiety and exasperation as she saw none other than Jeffrey Cunningham standing across the pitch from her, a broom in one hand and a Bludger bat in the other, trying to look as confident as he usually did and failing.

But the second she had mounted her broom and kicked off from the ground, all of her nerves dissolved away, and she fell into the rhythm of the plays that she and her team had practiced. Weaving in and out between players and around Bludgers, Minerva quickly found that faking passes to the other Chasers worked quite well against the Ravenclaw Keeper, and soon she had six goals to her name. The Gryffindor crowd roared with delight as the lead grew – 80-10, 110-20, 160-20, finally 180-20. Minerva punched her fist in the air as the Gryffindors cheered her latest goal, during which she had intercepted a pass between two of the Ravenclaw Chasers, zoomed across the pitch, faked a shot towards the left goal which the Keeper dove wildly in front of, and threw it easily through the right goal post. She threw a wink at Augusta, who was cheering loudly in the stands, and had just noticed Professors Dumbledore and Merrythought seated next to each other (the former applauding politely with a large scarlet-and-gold bauble attached to the top of his pointed hat, and the latter with a most disgruntled expression on her face), when she suddenly heard a swishing noise behind her and felt something very hard hit the back of her hand. Stars blinked before Minerva's eyes, and the next minute she felt herself falling, falling through the darkness…

* * *

'Minerva,' said Augusta's voice sharply somewhere above her. 'Minerva! Are you all right?'

Minerva stirred and blinked, Augusta's face weaving before her eyes. 'Where am I?' she mumbled, squinting up at her friend.

'Hospital Wing,' said Pomona's voice softly. 'The entire Gryffindor Quidditch team was here a moment ago, but Madam Malus made them leave – she said they were too noisy.'

The match… Minerva's eyes widened, and she tried to sit up. 'Is it over?' she asked frantically.

'Yes, yes, it's over,' sighed Augusta, forcing Minerva back down onto her pillows. 'Ravenclaw got the Snitch about two seconds after Cunningham sent that Bludger at you, but since the end score was 180-170, Gryffindor still won…'

' _Jeff_ hit that Bludger at me?' said Minerva in disbelief, and she tried to sit up again.

'You fell about 40 feet,' said Pomona grimly. 'Fortunately, the teachers were able to slow you down before you hit the ground, but you were already out cold – I guess you got hit on the back of the head.'

Minerva touched the back of her head gingerly and winced. 'I see.' She looked at her friends, still squinting. 'Could someone turn up the lights in here? It's a bit hard to see everyone properly.'

Pomona and Augusta looked worriedly at each other. 'It's perfectly bright in here, Minerva – are you all right?' said Augusta anxiously.

Minerva blinked a few times, trying to make everything come back into focus. 'Fine,' she muttered, deciding that once the back of her head stopped hurting the room would probably stop being so blurry.

At that moment, Madam Malus, the school nurse, bustled over. 'Ah, you're awake,' she said matter-of-factly. 'Feel all right, McGonagall?'

'Er, yes, for the most part,' replied Minerva uncertainly. Madam Malus began pouring different doses of potions out of bottles and handing them to Minerva to drink.

'You two can come back and visit later – for now, you'll have to leave,' she said in a kind but firm voice to Augusta and Pomona as Minerva picked up the first of the potions, sniffed it, and made a face. With a small wave and a few worried goodbyes, Minerva's friends left the wing.

'Madam Malus?' said Minerva as she set down the last potion the nurse had put out to drink. 'I was just wondering… everything seems a bit blurry right now, and I didn't know if that was a side effect of my head hurting or not. But, well, my head isn't hurting any more, and my vision's still a bit funny, so…'

Madam Malus frowned and picked up the tray of potions. 'Probably some minor damage to your occipital lobe,' she muttered. 'A Bludger straight to the back of the head… you're lucky you aren't suffering worse. It'll be spectacles for you, Miss McGonagall.'

Minerva blinked. 'Spectacles?' she repeated hollowly.

'Yes,' said Madam Malus briskly, conjuring a pair with square frames out of thin air. 'Vision is not something that can be corrected by magic, I'm afraid, so you'll just have to get used to them.' Minerva took them from the nurse without a word, and put them on sadly. Madam Malus smiled kindly at her.

'It's quite all right, dear,' she said gently. 'Nothing else has been permanently affected, you'll still be quite as brilliant as all the teachers say you are, and, if you don't mind me saying, they make you look even more scholarly.' Minerva merely sighed and leaned back against her cushions, trying to decide if that was a good or a bad thing.

* * *

Although by the next morning Minerva felt quite back to normal (except for her sight, of course), Madam Malus refused to release her from the Hospital Wing for another day. Pomona and Augusta came to visit after breakfast and promised before leaving to come back and after classes were over – both were a bit startled by Minerva's new glasses, but complimented them politely, although Augusta admitted that they would take quite a bit of getting used to and Pomona nodded faintly in agreement.

About halfway through the day, as Minerva sat looking at the vaulted ceiling, taking her new spectacles off and putting them back on to see if they really made that much of a difference (she was most displeased to find that they did), the door to the Hospital Wing opened, and a figure came to sit by the side of Minerva's bed.

'I always find that staring at the ceiling makes me feel better when I am recovering from some ailment,' said the deep voice of Professor Dumbledore. Minerva hastily put her glasses back on and looked at her professor, a bit embarrassed. Dumbledore continued to smile at the ceiling for a moment before lowering his gaze to that of his student's.

'That was quite a game you had, Miss McGonagall,' he said quietly, his eyes sparkling with pride. 'I don't think I've ever seen Gryffindor play so well in all my forty years teaching at Hogwarts, and that is certainly saying something.'

Minerva nodded modestly. 'Thank you,' she said. 'And thank you, and the other teachers too, for slowing me down before I hit the ground, and taking me up to the castle afterwards and everything.'

'Well, I will take the credit for keeping you from hitting the ground at the normal velocity,' said Dumbledore, 'but I think you might have Mr Cunningham to thank for getting you back up to the castle.'

'Really?' said Minerva, somewhat shocked. 'But I thought he was the one who sent the Bludger at me in the first place!'

'And so he was,' affirmed Dumbledore, 'but the second he saw how much damage it had done, I believe he felt more than just a little guilty about what he had done. He refused to let anyone use magic to bring you up to the castle, and insisted on carrying you up here. Indeed, when I passed him in the hallway today he was still not looking at all like his usual self. I wouldn't be at all surprised if you received a visit from him later today.' The older wizard's eyes twinkled, but Minerva could not help but notice that he looked tired and drawn.

'Sir, is everything all right?' asked Minerva before she could stop herself.

Dumbledore gave a deep sigh. 'Yes, for the most part,' he said, the twinkle quickly dwindling in his eyes.

'But?' Minerva knew she was probably being rude, but she had not forgotten how interested the professor had been by an article out of a Muggle newspaper, and she could not help but wonder if another problem in the Muggle world was troubling him.

Dumbledore chuckled humourlessly. 'You will not be deterred, I can see that. I assure you, what is worrying me is nothing that you should concern yourself with too much right now… unless, of course, the sudden and very unexpected rise of an all-but-powerless party in the German government is something that weighs constantly on your mind.' The wizard's face darkened. 'But, as you are in no immediate danger of losing your civil liberties, I suggest you concentrate on matters closer to home.'

Minerva stared at Professor Dumbledore, and then back up at the ceiling, confused. A multitude of thoughts were racing through her head at top speed, and she knew it would take at least an hour of careful contemplation to sort them all out. 'My mother is going to kill my father,' she muttered finally. 'She was afraid I'd get hurt playing Quidditch… you're not going to write her, are you?' She peered anxiously at Professor Dumbledore through her glasses.

'I'm afraid as your Head of House it is my responsibility to inform your parents of any accidents or injuries you may have sustained,' said Dumbledore apologetically, rising to leave. 'But I wouldn't worry too much about it if I were you, Minerva,' he added with a smile. 'I'm sure you will have no trouble at all catching up on a day's worth of missed school work, and, if I may say so, those square frames look quite nice on you – I'll have to compliment Madam Malus on her fashion sense when I see her next…'

* * *

Just as Dumbledore had predicted, Jeff Cunningham sidled nervously into the Hospital Wing shortly after classes ended. Minerva was examining a number of boxes of candies that other Gryffindors had sent to the Hospital Wing for her – apparently there had been quite a party in the common room after the win the day before. She looked up as Jeff approached her bed and stood at the foot awkwardly, not meeting her eyes.

'Hi,' he said finally, after a long and very tense silence.

Minerva snorted. 'After a whole year of pretending I don't exist, is that the best you can do?'

'Look, Minerva,' said Jeff desperately (Minerva was rather pleased to hear that he was back to using her first name), 'I know I've been an idiot. I suppose I was just jealous of you because you're so good at, well, _everything_ , and at least at the beginning of the year I was too insecure or something to accept being second-best gracefully…'

'But you're _not_ , you understand everything so much more quickly than I do,' said Minerva loudly.

'…and then I was just too stupid to come and apologise like I should have once the shock wore off,' continued Jeff, ignoring her. 'So I'm sorry. There, I've said it – I'm sorry, and I really do hope you can forgive me for having been such a prat for the last year.' His rant over, Jeff stopped and considered what Minerva had said when she interrupted him. 'Really?' he said hopefully.

Minerva laughed. 'Apology accepted,' she said graciously. 'And yes, I mean it. In Pomona's opinion, if you just worked a little harder, you'd be far ahead of where I am in Transfiguration and Defence Against the Dark Arts.'

Jeff grinned hesitantly. 'Nah, I'm far too lazy,' he said truthfully. 'Listen, I also just wanted to apologise for that Bludger. I didn't realise it would knock you off your broom and everything.'

'Or land me with these?' said Minerva, picking her glasses up off the table and putting them on, her eyebrow raised. Jeff looked horrified.

'Oh, God, it made you go blind too?' he said wildly. 'Minerva, I'm so sorry, I really am…'

'Don't worry about it,' said Minerva stiffly, surveying him through her glasses and feeling a bit guilty about how miserable he looked. 'It was quite a good hit – a bit _too_ good, as a matter of fact. You're a good Beater.'

Jeff laughed hollowly. 'Baseball,' he explained grimly. 'Not sure I'll be able to go back to playing the position after this – I think I might never want to hit a Bludger at anyone every again.'

'Oh, don't be stupid,' scoffed Minerva, searching through the pile of food next to her bed. 'It's what you're _supposed_ to do as a Beater – just try not to aim for anyone's head next time. Biscuit?' she added, opening a box of Ginger Newts and offering Jeff one.

'No, thanks,' he muttered.

'Have you ever tried one? They're really good,' Minerva insisted. 'Here, have one.' Jeff looked at her blankly before taking one.

'Why are you being so nice to me?' he burst out. 'I've been awful to you, I admit it, and I expected you to be much more, I dunno, _resentful_ or something.'

'Would you prefer it if I screamed at you?' asked Minerva, munching on a Ginger Newt. She didn't want to admit it, but the fact that Jeff had had the guts to come apologise meant quite a lot to her – she really had hated being shunned for no good reason.

'Well, yes,' said Jeff mulishly, 'I'd certainly deserve it.' He paused. 'Look, is there anything I can do to make everything up to you?'

Minerva swallowed a mouthful of Ginger Newt. 'Is being a friend enough?' she said. Jeff smiled weakly, but still looked rather agitated. 'Look, I know you probably have lots of friends in Ravenclaw, but if you want, you can come study with us in the Library.'

'Sure,' said Jeff, looking at his feet. He glanced to the side as if to make sure that no one else was around, and then leaned forward. 'In all honesty, I think the other Ravenclaws think I'm a bit weird. I'm the only Muggle-born Ravenclaw in my year, and besides, there's the cello, and the fact I'm half-Czech, and I'm Jewish, and I grew up mostly in America, and… well, they're nice enough, I guess, but I haven't felt as comfortable talking to any of them as I did with you and Pomona and Augusta on the train ride.' He went back to examining the ground.

Minerva nodded, a bit surprised. 'But the cello-playing sounds so _good_ , I don't see why they wouldn't want to listen.'

Jeff shrugged. 'It's not so much how it _sounds_ , it's more the fact that it's different from what's normal. How do you know, anyway?' he added suspiciously.

'Oh.' It was Minerva's turn to look down in embarrassment. 'I've heard you practicing in the Transfiguration classroom one or twice coming back from the Library. I mean, I don't know much about it, but it sounded good to me.'

'Well, thanks.' Jeff scratched his head, looking genuinely complimented. 'Yeah, Professor Dumbledore was nice enough to offer me his classroom to practice in after he heard some of my dorm mates teasing me. He's rarely in there at that time at night, of course, but the few times he's come in to get papers for marking and such, he's always said it sounded good to him too. Maybe Gryffindors are just nicer than Ravenclaws, who knows.'

Minerva shrugged, feeling embarrassed – she had had no idea that Jeff had been less than comfortable with the students in his House. She wanted to say that she was glad they were friends again, but wasn't sure how to. 'Well, I'll see you in Transfiguration tomorrow, I guess,' she said finally.

'Yeah,' said Jeff, turning to go. 'By the way, I really am sorry about the glasses, Minerva. I hope they aren't too much trouble.'

'Don't worry about it,' repeated Minerva, knowing that even if they gave her headaches she wouldn't have the heart to tell Jeff.

'They look really good on you, for what it's worth!' said Jeff. Minerva smiled appreciatively as he waved and left the Hospital Wing.


	6. A Smorgasbord of Music

Augusta and Pomona both seemed quite relieved when Jeff started to join them in the Library for their evening study sessions. Minerva was under the impression that they were both quite relieved that she and Jeff had made up, and that they would not have to split their loyalties any longer. In addition, Jeff was extraordinarily good at picking up concepts quickly, and even Minerva benefitted from his insights.

Minerva was pleased to see that Jeff seemed to share her extreme dislike of the Slug Club, and that he had begun to use studying as a good excuse not to go either.

'I'm not even exactly sure why I went in the first place,' he admitted to Minerva. 'I suppose I was hoping I'd meet some new and interesting people, but all that was really there were a bunch of arrogant boys who seemed to think that everyone was beneath them… and, of course, there was always good old Slughorn, going on and on about how amazing it was that I could be so good at magic, considering I'm a Muggle-born and all…' He rolled his eyes.

* * *

One evening in the early spring found Jeff and Minerva alone in the Library; Pomona was at Astronomy, and Augusta had stayed up late the night before finishing a Charms essay, and had decided to go to bed early. Minerva was finishing up her Transfiguration reading for an assignment that was not due until at least a week later when Jeff suddenly slammed his Potions book closed.

'Ah, Potions,' he groaned. 'I can't concentrate on this at all, and I'm sick of the subject anyway.'

'The subject, or the teacher?' asked Minerva, who knew all too well the sorts of obnoxious entreaties Jeff was probably being subjected to every Potions class.

'Both, and anything else that makes me think of Slytherins.' Jeff leaned his chair back on two legs and stared at the ceiling for a moment. 'I'm going to go practice the cello, I really don't feel like doing anything else.'

'Can I come watch?' asked Minerva as Jeff leapt up and started to throw all of his things back into his schoolbag.

'Sure, if you really want to. Here, help me get my stuff, why don't you?'

Minerva rushed after Jeff out of the Library and raced after him up the staircases and through the corridors until they finally reached a tight spiral staircase. Minerva dashed up it after Jeff, and stopped short when they reached a large wooden door with a large bronze knocker in the shape of a raven in the centre.

'This is the entrance to the Ravenclaw common-room?' she gasped. 'How do you get in?'

'Like this,' answered Jeff, who, Minerva noticed with a bit of annoyance, did not seem in the least bit winded. Clearing his throat dramatically, Jeff stepped forward and rapped on the door with the bronze knocker.

'What is the sound of one hand clapping?' asked a light, musical voice that seemed to come from nowhere.

Minerva glanced at Jeff, who was biting his lip. 'You have to answer a riddle to get into your common-room?'

'Yeah,' muttered Jeff. 'Only problem is, sometimes it takes me a bit to figure them out.'

'The sound of one hand clapping,' mused Minerva. 'Well, wouldn't that be the sound of silence… or, that is to say, everything?'

To her amazement, the door swung slowly open, revealing a large room with a domed ceiling studded with stars, graceful arched windows, a deep blue rug, and an imposing marble statue that stood in a nice by a corner. Before she could get a good look about the room, Jeff had grabbed Minerva's hand and was dragging her through the room towards his dormitory, much to the outrage of the Ravenclaws lounging about the room in chairs.

'You should have been in Ravenclaw, honestly,' muttered Jeff admiringly as he threw open the door of the dormitory. Minerva, following, noted that the four-poster beds lining the walls of the dormitory were very much like those in her own, save for the fact that the curtains on these were blue instead of red. 'That one would have had me standing on my head in frustration. Here, hold these, will you?' he added, pulling a stack of sheet music from his trunk and shoving it into Minerva's arms. Then, grabbing his cello, he started back out into the common-room.

'Cunningham, what in Merlin's name do you think you're doing?' shrieked a sixth-year girl, glaring sternly at Jeff. 'She's a Gryffindor, she's not supposed to be in here!'

Jeff blinked at the girl for a moment, as if the thought had only just occurred to him.

'Well, she's the one who figured out the riddle, doesn't that mean she has every right to be in here?' he asked. 'C'mon, Minerva, let's go.'

And before any other Ravenclaws could express their disapproval, the two were heading back down the spiral staircase.

'In here,' said Jeff, holding the door of the Transfiguration classroom open for Minerva. Minerva stepped inside and dropped the stack of sheet music onto a desk. 'Sorry that was such a rushed experience for you... I would have let you look around, but people probably would have started complaining.'

Minerva shook her head.

' _I'm_ sorry that you feel you have to rush in and out of your own common room like that,' she said.

'Well, I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I think you Gryffindors are just more open-minded than most Ravenclaws.' Jeff adjusted the peg on his cello, plucked at the strings, and then began to tune them.

'It could be worse,' reasoned Minerva. 'Think of how it would have been if you'd ended up in Slytherin.'

Jeff made a face, and played his A and D strings together, adjusting the pitch with a slight frown on his face.

'I think I would have left the school,' he said only half-jokingly. 'Just imagine me, amongst all of those arrogant, elitist maniacs. I don't think I would have survived.'

'Maybe that's why you have to be ambitious to be in Slytherin, so you don't just leave the school after being Sorted into the house.'

'Ambition,' snorted Jeff. 'Slytherins are just cheaters, and that's all there is to it. Did you hear about Abraxas Malfoy's contribution to that spectacular loss to Slytherin we had two weeks ago?'

Minerva shook her head.

'Right, well, not to make excuses, but that was in large part because Malfoy jinxed our Seeker about ten minutes before the game, and then threatened to do worse to him if he caught the Snitch.'

'He didn't!' gasped Minerva.

'He did,' said Jeff grimly. 'Fortunately, Madam Malus passed by right after Malfoy left and put everything right, but poor Toby was so scared that not only did he refuse to go anywhere near the Snitch throughout the entire game, he also refused to say who had jinxed him until Madam Malus forced some sort of calming potion down his throat after the game.' Jeff's scowl changed suddenly to a smug grin. 'You should have seen Merrythought, though. She looked furious enough to take on a colony of fully-grown Acromantulas wandless and come out of it without a scratch – I was shocked that Malfoy turned up the next day in Herbology, and in one piece at that.'

'He's just bitter because he didn't make the Slytherin team,' said Minerva savagely.

'Yeah, well, he'll make it next year,' said Jeff grumpily. 'Two of Slytherin's Chasers and their Seeker are all seventh-years, and Malfoy'll buy his way into one of their places next year, I'd bet my cello on it.'

'Which reminds me,' said Minerva strictly, 'you should practice before it gets too late.'

'Yeah,' sighed Jeff. He pulled a piece of music from his stack, placed it on his music stand, and strummed the strings of his cello with his fingers for a moment.

'Now that it comes down to it, it is sort of nerve-wracking to have you here, watching,' he admitted.

'I can leave,' said Minerva quickly, sliding off of the desk on which she had been sitting.

'Nah, it's OK, I can deal with it.' Jeff took a deep breath. 'Here goes nothing.'

The second the bow touched the strings, a rich, soaring resonance leapt from the instrument and left hanging the air a melody so filled with passion and longing that for an instant Minerva forgot about everything else; the music left her suspended in one eternal moment in time, oblivious to everything but the raw emotion that the sound of the cello brought bubbling to the surface of her consciousness. Even when Jeff lifted his bow from the strings of the cello, the sound reverberated about the room for a few seconds before all shuddered back into silence.

'What _is_ that?' Minerva asked. It was a bit strange to suddenly get to see this new side of Jeff; it was nothing like the studious Jeff she knew, nor like the athlete she had seen, and yet it somehow was even more like Jeff than any of the other personas she had already seen.

'Slavonic Dance No. 2 in E minor, Opus 72, by Antonín Dvořák,' recited Jeff in a bored voice, tossing Minerva the sheet music, which she studied in fascination. 'Czech composer, of course – reminds me of my family, which is why I usually warm up with it…'

'It's gorgeous,' said Minerva, tossing the music back. 'How on earth do you read that?'

'Lots and lots of practice,' laughed Jeff. 'The same way you learn how to read Chinese, I suppose… or runes,' he added upon seeing the blank expression on Minerva's face.

'How long have you been playing?'

'Since before I can remember,' said Jeff honestly, with a shrug. 'You should hear my little sister, though. She's amazing on the violin – better than I am on the cello, at any rate, and she's four years younger than me…'

'Is she a witch too?' asked Minerva in interest.

'I don't think so. I mean, it's too early to tell, obviously, but funny stuff just happened to me when I was growing up, and it doesn't for her.'

Minerva sighed. 'I'd like to meet your family some time.'

'Maybe you will,' said Jeff, plucking at his cello strings again. 'You know, I've been meaning to ask… my bar mitzvah is going to be next December, over the winter holidays, and I know you're not Jewish, but if you wanted to come, you could meet my family and all…'

'Of course I'll come, if my mum and dad will let me,' said Minerva.

'Really?' Jeff grinned. 'That'd be great, I know my mum and dad would love to meet you. They've never really gotten to meet anyone magic before… well, except for me, of course, but I don't really count since I'm, well, me.'

A loud creak made Minerva turn, and she slid quickly off the top of the desk and into a chair as Professor Dumbledore entered the room.

'I beg your pardon,' he said pleasantly in his deep voice. 'Please, pay no attention to me and go on with your practicing.'

'Oh, it's all right, Professor, I wasn't really practicing at the moment…' Jeff's voice faded into silence, and Dumbledore glanced at Minerva, his eyes twinkling.

'If you wish, Mr Cunningham, you may leave your music in here so that you will not require any assistance in bringing it down in the future,' said Dumbledore, waving his wand so that the door of a cupboard across the room flew open. He gave Minerva the slightest of winks, and she got the distinct impression that the Transfiguration professor knew full well that she had been up in the Ravenclaw common-room earlier that evening.

'Oh, thank you Professor,' said Jeff, carefully placing his music in the cupboard and closing it. 'Er, do you mind if I…?'

'Not at all,' said Dumbledore, waving his hand as he began to search through his desk drawers for a stray paper. Jeff raised his eyebrows at Minerva, sighed, and began to play through the piece again, stopping here and there to correct tiny imperfections in pitch and dynamics as he went. The whole process was entirely foreign to Minerva, who watched in fascination.

'It sounds excellent, Mr Cunningham,' said Dumbledore when Jeff paused to scribble a note in his music. 'Good night to you both, and please do remember to get back to your common-rooms before nine o'clock.' As he crossed the room and opened the door, Minerva could have sworn she heard Dumbledore mutter, 'A magic beyond anything we teach here…'

'Is it all right if I come and watch you practice again?' she asked Jeff once Dumbledore had left the room. 'I can bring schoolwork to do while you practice, if it would make you less nervous.'

'Oh, you don't need to,' said Jeff. 'It's really not so bad having you watch. But, Minerva? Would you mind not telling Pomona or Augusta? I'm not sure I want too many people in here while I'm trying to practice.'

'Of course,' said Minerva. It was not until later, when she had said good night to Jeff and gone back up to her dormitory, that Minerva realised that this request probably meant that Jeff considered her the closest of his friends.

* * *

When Minerva returned for her third year at Hogwarts, she was greeted with a flurry of cheery accolades from the Gryffindors. The Gryffindor Quidditch team had won the Quidditch Cup for the first time in over 20 years the previous year, and Minerva and her teammates were eagerly welcomed as Quidditch champions by nearly the entire school (even the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were glad that Slytherin's winning streak had finally been broken). Much to Minerva's relief, the commotion soon died down, and things began to return to normal. Although Minerva felt a bit of trepidation about her two new classes (Arithmancy and Ancient Runes), she was glad to see that Jeff had signed up for the same classes, and figured that between the two of them, they would be able to make some sense out of the work.

The second day back at school, Augusta burst into the common-room and threw herself into the chair next to Minerva, who was writing a letter to her parents about her new classes.

'Well, it's official,' pronounced Augusta a bit breathlessly. 'Hogwarts has a new genius.'

'Oh?' said Minerva nonchalantly, not looking up. She knew it was silly to be competitive, but she couldn't help but feel an inkling of resentment over the fact that she and Jeff would no longer be the centre of attention at Hogwarts.

'Yes,' continued Augusta, 'everyone says he's done all sorts of things in his classes that his teachers had never even _dreamed_ a first year would be able to do, and what's more, he says he's a Parselmouth, but no one's been able to prove that yet, of course. But here's what makes it all the more extraordinary: He didn't even grow up around magic! They say he said he grew up in a Muggle orphanage, and had never even heard about Hogwarts until he came here…'

'Well, that's like Jeff, isn't it?' said Minerva, just a bit annoyed.

'Not quite.' Augusta shook her head earnestly. 'Jeff is really smart, and so are you, but this new boy seems to be just, well, _above_ everyone at the school… well, except for Professor Dumbledore, maybe, but that's just because he's Professor Dumbledore. Too bad he's in Slytherin, I do hope they don't win the House Cup because of him…'

'And does this genius happen to have a name?' asked Minerva coolly.

'Oh. Yes, of course, sorry about that. Er, Riddle, I think it was. Tom Riddle.'

'I see,' said Minerva, and she went back to writing her letter, determined not to give Augusta the excited reaction she was obviously looking for.

'Augusta, will you leave her alone?' called Algie from across the common-room. 'She's obviously not interested, so why don't you bore someone else?'

'Yeah, I haven't heard about this new genius, you can bore me,' said Paul Longbottom, sitting down next to Augusta.

'Oh, forget about it,' snapped Augusta, glaring at her brother and storming huffily up to her dormitory. Paul Longbottom watched her leave, looking rather put-out.

'Ah, well, it was worth a try,' he sighed regretfully.

Minerva got her chance to meet the new boy face-to-face a few weeks later. As she half-listened to Jeff trying to explain a certain wrist movement from that day's Charms lesson to Augusta, she spotted a slight, dark-haired boy wearing second-hand robes that were too long for him seated at a nearby table.

'Who's that?' she muttered, nudging Pomona.

'That's him!' whispered Augusta excitedly, completely ignoring whatever Jeff was trying to tell her. 'That's the new boy, the genius one I was telling you about!'

As if he could sense that he was being spoken about, the boy looked up suddenly and fixed the table with a piercing stare that for some reason made all four third-years stiffen nervously. An awkward moment passed, and then Minerva stood up.

'Well, we might as well introduce ourselves,' she said, and, not caring that none of her friends were following, she strode over to the boy's table.

'Hello,' she said briskly, holding out a hand. 'Minerva McGonagall.'

The boy took Minerva's hand and shook it, still fixing her with his unsettling stare. Minerva found she could not meet his eyes for more than a few seconds and instead glanced down at the cover of the wizarding genealogy book the boy was reading.

'Tom Marvolo Riddle,' replied the boy in a soft voice. 'I've heard about you. They all say that I'm like you. You're the top of your class. Everyone says so, even the teachers.'

'What?' said Minerva, embarrassed. 'Oh, no, I mean, there's my friend Jeff, he's probably the top of the class, not I…'

Riddle glanced lazily over towards the table at which Minerva's friends were sitting, and began to laugh a soft, eerie laugh that made a shiver run down Minerva's spine.

'The Mudblood,' he said quietly. Minerva frowned. 'Yes, I've heard about him, too.' Riddle leaned back in his chair and examined Minerva's face appraisingly in a way that Minerva most certainly did not like. 'You should not shy away from recognition and power, McGonagall. Not to make way for the likes of him.'

Minerva raised an eyebrow, unsure of what to say. Riddle looked back casually, as if waiting to see how she would respond to this gauche statement. Minerva had to credit him for confidence, but she was almost positive that she did not like Tom Marvolo Riddle in the slightest.

'I'll see you around,' said Minerva finally, and retreated back into the comforting company of her friends.

* * *

A few days before the winter holidays started, Professor Dumbledore called Minerva and Jeff up to his desk at the end of Transfiguration.

'From what I understand, Mr Cunningham, Miss McGonagall has permission to take the train home with you,' he said, reading a scrap of parchment. 'She will be staying at your house for the first three days of the winter holidays, and then will take the Floo network back to her own house?'

'Er, yes, Professor,' said Jeff, glancing sideways at Minerva as if to make sure that that was indeed what was going on.

'Excellent,' said Dumbledore, rolling up the parchment and tapping it with his wand. 'This parchment contains the access spells needed to use the Floo network to get back to your home, Miss McGonagall… and, if you don't mind, Mr Cunningham, I'd like a private word with Miss McGonagall before the two of you go off to your next classes.'

Jeff shot Minerva a quizzical look, and nodded. 'I'll wait outside,' he said, and started towards the door.

'Oh, and Jeff?' Jeff paused at the door and looked back at the Transfiguration professor. 'My sincere congratulations, and the best of luck to you,' said Dumbledore with a smile and a nod. Jeff grinned in embarrassment, and shut the door behind him.

'Now, Minerva,' said Dumbledore, folding his hands in that way that reminded Minerva very much of her father, 'I assume you were listening to today's lecture on Animagi?'

Minerva nodded, wondering if she was about to be assigned extra work.

Dumbledore regarded her seriously. 'I do not usually encourage students to do this, especially not students as young as yourself, but you have shown such an aptitude and willingness to learn in Transfiguration that, if you would like, I would be more than happy in helping you to train to become an Animagus.'

Minerva stared at him for a moment. 'What?' she asked finally. 'Really?'

'It would be a time-consuming and difficult process, I will not deny that,' said Dumbledore, 'but I have no doubt that your talent, determination, and diligence would enable you to achieve a full transformation before you leave Hogwarts.'

'Oh, well, thank you, Professor,' said Minerva, a bit embarrassed. 'But, if it's not too rude to ask, why?'

Dumbledore heaved a great sigh before answering. 'The world is no longer as safe a place as it once was. If my predictions are anywhere near correct, then a fool-proof disguise may be indispensable in the coming years… not that I mean to frighten you,' he added gently, seeing the slightly alarmed look that crossed the young witch's face.

'Is it all right if I think about it a bit?' asked Minerva, overwhelmed.

'Certainly,' said Dumbledore, standing. 'Please do not let yourself be pressured by this, Minerva – it was merely an offer. I would like to ask you, though, to please not tell anyone else that I have spoken to you about this, for reasons I'm sure you can imagine.'

'Not even my friends?'

'Well, I suppose exceptions could be made there,' said Dumbledore, smiling. 'Now, you'd better get to your next class.'

* * *

'He said _what_?'

'Shh! Is it absolutely necessary for you to yell, Jeff? Keep in mind I'm not even supposed to be telling _you_ about this!'

'Like anyone around here even knows what an Animagus is,' snorted Jeff. He was sitting on the floor of his cluttered room, a copy of his Haftorah portion lying completely forgotten in front of him. Only hours before, she and Jeff had startled his parents considerably by whizzing quite suddenly the fireplace in their small but tidy London home. Minerva had been introduced to Jeff's family and had asked numerous questions about nearly every appliance in the house; finally, Jeff had managed to drag her up to his room before she could ask for another explanation as to how the toaster worked.

'Well, still, you could keep your voice down,' said Minerva, who was sitting cross-legged on Jeff's bed. 'I don't think he's supposed to be teaching such advanced and potentially dangerous magic at school, and I don't want to get him in trouble with Dippet.'

'Wow,' muttered Jeff, shaking his head. 'Wish I could come with you.'

'I don't see why you couldn't, you're just as good of a student…'

'Oh, come off it, Minerva, didn't you say that Dumbledore said that it takes real diligence to be able to do this?' said Jeff with a slightly bitter laugh. 'I'm far too lazy.'

'Well, start studying, then,' ordered Minerva, waving her hand at Jeff. 'You only have one more day to get this all down perfectly.'

'I know, I know,' sighed Jeff, frowning in concentration as he reread the lines of Hebrew, humming slightly to himself. Minerva stared at the posters on the walls for a moment, and then sneezed violently.

'You all right?' asked Jeff.

'Fine,' sniffed Minerva. 'You don't have a cat, do you?'

'Yeah, a tabby named Regina. Amy adores her. Why?'

'I'm horribly allergic to cats,' groaned Minerva. 'So please forgive me if I spend most of this trip sneezing my eyes out.'

The doorbell downstairs rang, and Minerva slid off of the bed to see what was going on.

'That's probably my relatives,' said Jeff without looking up. 'My grandma's come all the way from Plzeň, and my uncle from the States, too. I don't think they know I'm a wizard, though, so I wouldn't mention that to them… although my grandma doesn't speak anything but Czech, so I suppose you don't need to worry about that…'

'Do I look enough like a Muggle?' asked Minerva worriedly, examining the blouse and skirt she was wearing.

'You look _fine_ , stop worrying' sighed Jeff impatiently. He glanced at her, and then started to laugh. 'I'm sorry, it's just so odd seeing you in Muggle clothes…'

'Oh, quiet,' muttered Minerva, following Jeff out of his room and down the stairs.

Minerva could immediately see the similarities between Jeff's mother and her brother – both had dark brown eyes, wavy auburn hair, broad smiles, and very American accents. Their mother was a tiny old woman with wispy white hair who began asking Jeff questions in rapid Czech the moment she saw him.

'And who is this, Zuzana?' Jeff's uncle asked, giving Minerva a broad smile.

'This is Minerva, one of Jeff's friends from school,' answered Jeff's mother, winking at Minerva. 'Minerva, this is my brother Jan.'

'Delighted to meet you,' said Jan, shaking Minerva's hand. At almost the exact same moment, Jeff's grandmother noticed Minerva, and asked Jeff another question that made him glance at Minerva with a stricken expression on his face before answering with a firm shake of his head.

'My mother was just asking Jeff if, and I quote, "the pretty girl shaking your uncle's hand is your girlfriend",' explained Jan in a low voice. Minerva made a face, and Jan laughed. 'Don't worry, he said no.'

Jeff's little grandmother by this time had bustled over to where Minerva and Jan stood, and said something to Minerva in Czech.

'She's wishing you a Happy Hanukkah, even though I already told her you're not Jewish,' sighed Jeff in exasperation.

' _Děkuji vám_ ,' replied Minerva, pleased that Jeff had taught her at least one phrase of Czech. Jeff's grandmother beamed in delight that her grandson's friend could at least say 'thank you,' and made another comment.

'Apparently you're being invited to make a trip to Czechoslovakia, so you can improve your Czech,' translated Jan, amused. 'I think you've won her approval, Minerva.'

'Oh Merlin…' groaned Jeff under his breath. 'My whole family is going to want to adopt you next if you keep this up, Minerva. Let's get out of here, shall we…'

'Hold on there, Jeff, we don't get to hear you play?' barked Jan, grabbing his nephew by the shoulder. 'Just one piece, come on, something that you can play with Amy…'

Jeff sighed. 'All right, all right… Brahms Double, it is, then…'

Minerva was extremely impressed with how well Amy played. A small girl with glasses and the same wavy brown hair as her brother and mother, she was certainly her brother's equal as a musician – the musical lines of the violin and cello flitted around each other and tossed the melody back and forth, and not once did the younger girl fall behind her brother or fail to meet the level of intensity he put forth in his playing. She played with such confidence that Minerva was surprised to see how shy she appeared the second she had bowed and left Jeff's side.

'That was lovely,' said Minerva genuinely as Amy carefully laid her violin back in her case. The little girl started in surprise, and snapped her violin case closed. She seemed almost afraid to look Minerva in the eyes as she stood up. Finally she took a deep breath, as if to muster enough courage to ask a question of the older girl.

'Are you really a witch, like Jeff says?' she asked in a soft voice, still looking at the ground.

Minerva nodded. 'Yes, I am. But please don't be frightened. I've heard that Muggles sometimes are afraid that witches will try to hurt them using magic, but I wouldn't.'

'I know,' said Amy with a tiny nod. She took another deep breath. 'Can Jeff teach me to be magic? And if he does, do I get to go to your school?'

Minerva looked at the little girl with a sad smile. 'I think that magic is something you're born with. I don't know if it can be taught.'

'I don't think I have it,' said Amy softly. 'Jeff always knew something was different for him. I never felt that way.'

'But you know what?' said Minerva. 'You play the violin so beautifully that it's almost like magic. I could never do that, and I think it's just as good as magic, in its own way.'

Amy finally looked up, a glimmer of hope amidst the sadness in her eyes. 'Really?'

'Really,' said Minerva with a smile. 'Magic really isn't all it's made out to be sometimes.'

Amy smiled a small smile, and went to put her violin away. And for the first time that day, Minerva felt like she truly belonged in the strange Muggle world.

* * *

Jeff's bar mitzvah passed by in a whirl of Hebrew and song. Minerva could see Jeff visibly relax as the Torah was processed back to the Ark after his Haftorah portion; she winked at him, and he smiled in relief.

The service was followed by a feast and dancing. As much as Minerva wished she could join in, she could not help but feel a bit of relief as she sat by herself, watching; for the past two days, both Regina the cat and Amy had trailed after Minerva wherever she went, and she was glad to have a moment to be by herself (and not sneezing). As she stared absently at the dishes, marvelling again that they were all going to have to be washed by hand, Jeff's father Michael sat down next to her.

'Are you all right?' he asked concernedly. He was a tall, thin, balding man, with glasses, a shy smile very much like his daughter's, and a slight limp.

Minerva glanced up quickly. 'Oh, yes, I'm fine. I just don't know how to dance.'

Michael raised an eyebrow at her. 'You mean you don't know this dance?'

'Er, or any dance, really,' said Minerva truthfully.

'You'll have to ask Jeff to teach you, then – I do believe my wife made sure that he and Amy were both well-schooled in waltzing at the very least.'

'Oh, well, it's not as if we have school dances anyway…' began Minerva quickly.

'Still, it's a good thing to know,' insisted Michael. He smiled ruefully. 'I wish I could be out there, dancing away with them, but my leg hasn't been the same since the war.'

That would explain his limp, then. Minerva tried to imagine a mild-mannered man like Michael in the midst of a war with people dying all around him, and failed.

'By the way, thank you so much for coming,' added Michael. 'I know that this is probably very different for you – I know that I'd never stepped inside a synagogue until I married Zuzana – but Jeff really appreciates it.'

'Of course,' said Minerva, who had figured as much already.

Michael nodded. 'In all the letters he's written home to us, he always makes it clear what a good friend you are to him, even if he doesn't say it outright. So, thank you, from both Zuzana and myself.'

* * *

Minerva woke up sneezing the next morning, and, cursing Regina the cat, threw all of her belongings back into her trunk before pulling her robes on. She was a bit surprised to find that she almost did not want to leave, although she had to admit that she was looking forward to getting back to the magical world.

Zuzana was frying eggs when Minerva came into the kitchen, pulling her trunk after her. Amy stared at Minerva for a minute with her mouth slightly ajar at the sight of Minerva's robes – Minerva suspected that she had only ever seen them used as costumes before.

'Good morning,' yawned Jeff as he came into the kitchen. 'Where's Dad?'

'Already left for work,' said Zuzana, sliding an egg and a few pieces of toast onto a plate for Minerva. 'So, you're leaving today, Minerva?'

Minerva nodded. 'Thank you so much for letting me come, Mrs Cunningham.'

'Any time,' said Zuzana with a broad smile. 'Thank _you_ for coming, it's been a pleasure getting to know you. And please, call me Zuzana, "Mrs Cunningham" sounds so old…'

'Do you really have to leave today?' asked Amy sadly.

'I'm afraid so,' said Minerva. 'But I'll try to come back and visit, and you can always write.'

Amy considered this idea for a moment. 'Jeff says you get your post using owls,' she said in a conspiratorial whisper. 'Do I have to have an owl to send you a letter?'

'I don't know,' said Minerva, wondering how Muggles with students at Hogwarts sent them letters. 'But I think if you put a letter through the Muggle post, it would find its way somehow.'

'Two minutes to nine,' remarked Zuzana. 'What time did you say you needed to leave, Minerva?'

'Right about now,' said Minerva, leaping up and placing her plate on the counter. 'Thank you so much for everything.'

'See you back at school,' said Jeff with a wink.

'Ravenclaw plays Gryffindor two weeks after term restarts – I hope you've been practicing, Cunningham,' smirked Minerva.

'Really?' Jeff raised an eyebrow at this challenge. 'I hope you have been, too. Now, quick, you don't want to miss your Floo.'

Minerva pulled a small bag of green powder from her robes just as the clock over the mantelpiece struck nine. She tossed it into the fireplace, and emerald flames sprang to life – Minerva could hear Zuzana and Amy gasp in astonishment behind her. Throwing the parchment Dumbledore had given her into the fire, she stepped calmly into the flames, shouted her address, and gave Jeff and his family a small wave before she was whisked back to the wizarding world.


	7. Spite and Surprise

Minerva did not give Dumbledore her final answer on the Animagus question until the second week of her fourth year – she had spent all summer asking herself if she really needed yet another obligation to fill her time, and had finally concluded that receiving special training from Albus Dumbledore was an offer that very few people ever had and ever would receive.

To her relief, her professor did not seem at all irked by her delayed response – on the contrary, his blue eyes began to sparkle with enthusiasm when she stopped by his desk after class and haltingly asked if his offer still stood.

'I would be delighted, Miss McGonagall,' he said genuinely. 'Now, I know that you have a busy schedule, but would next Wednesday at eight o'clock be an acceptable time for a first lesson?'

Minerva nodded, a grin spreading across her face as she rushed out of the classroom. She could scarcely wait to tell Jeff that it was settled – she was actually going to start learning how to become an Animagus starting next week…

But Minerva's jubilation was rudely cut short when she rushed into the Entrance Hall and found herself face to face with Abraxas Malfoy.

'Excuse me,' she said somewhat breathlessly, trying to duck around him. But Abraxas stepped slightly to the side to block her way, a sadistic smile turning up the corners of his thin lips.

'No need to be in such a hurry, McGonagall,' he drawled. Minerva frowned and glanced across the Entrance Hall to where Jeff was emerging from the grounds, deep in conversation with one of his fellow Ravenclaws. Abraxas followed her gaze lazily, and his pale eyes twinkled maliciously. 'One would think you needed to talk to someone important,' he added.

Minerva raised an eyebrow at him. 'What do you want?' she asked coolly.

'Only a few moments of your time,' said Abraxas casually, leaning a shoulder against the wall and smirking. 'Just a quick reminder of who you are, and what sort of people you shouldn't associate yourself with if you want to be looked upon correctly.'

'I believe you would fall under that list in my book, Malfoy,' said Minerva sharply. 'Now, if you'll let me by…'

'I don't think so,' said Abraxas, his voice becoming more dangerous. 'Times are not as safe as they used to be, McGonagall, and if you had any common sense, maybe you'd realize that you'd be safer staying with your _own kind_ …'

Minerva opened her mouth to retort, but was spared the trouble.

'What's going on?' Abraxas looked over his shoulder, scowling, as Jeff approached. His eyes narrowed as he met Abraxas's cold sneer. 'Minerva, are you all right?'

'Fine,' snorted Minerva in exasperation, taking the opportunity to shove Abraxas's arm aside. 'Let's get out of here, I have something I need to tell you…'

'And you leave her alone in the future, Malfoy,' Jeff snarled at Abraxas.

Abraxas sniffed arrogantly. 'Nothing wrong in wanting to chat with a friend for a moment, is there?'

'Yeah, there actually is, if the person in question isn't your friend,' retorted Jeff.

'It doesn't matter,' muttered Minerva. 'Let's go.'

Jeff glared at Abraxas and turned to leave with Minerva.

'Well, isn't that sweet?' called Abraxas after them. 'The Mudblood-lover standing up for her filthy heathen boyfriend.'

Minerva wheeled around, her eyes flashing. ' _What_ did you just say?' she hissed.

'I think you heard me,' said Abraxas calmly. 'I was being astonished by the fact that a pureblood, even one as foolish as you, would defend a piece of filth like this.'

Minerva pulled out her wand with a snarl, but Jeff put a restraining hand on her arm.

'Don't,' he muttered. 'He's not worth it. Just ignore him…'

'What's the matter, Cunningham?' jeered Abraxas. 'Afraid I'll hex your girlfriend's face beyond repair? Not that it would make much of a difference, really… considering how ugly she is already it might be an improvement…'

'One more word out of you, Malfoy,' spat Jeff, pulling his own wand from his robes, 'and I'll…'

'You'll what?' sneered Abraxas, drawing out his wand. 'Fight me like a Mudblood, using your fists?' Several Slytherin boys nearby sniggered, and Abraxas twirled his wand idly between his fingers. 'On second thought, that _would_ be rather horrible… the very thought of your dirty fingers touching me is simply revolt-'

_BANG!_

Malfoy flew several feet backwards and slammed against the wall with a dull thud. He slid slowly down the marble wall and crumpled to the floor, his white-blond hair ruffled, as Minerva advanced furiously towards him.

'Care to finish that sentence, Malfoy?' she hissed. Malfoy blinked slowly as his vision came back into focus, and he flinched when he saw that Minerva's wand was pointed directly between his eyes.

'If you ever…' Minerva began in a menacing tone, but she was interrupted by a sharp voice behind her.

'Miss McGonagall!'

Minerva sighed as Professor Merrythought stormed down the stairs towards the crowd of whispering students, looking positively livid.

'What on earth is going on here!' she snapped. Several students jumped out of the way in alarm as she stormed to the centre of the action and loomed angrily above Minerva.

'Oh, Professor,' squealed the shrill, girlish voice of Dolores Jane Umbridge. 'It was horrible, Abraxas was walking by, and out of the blue McGonagall hexed him!'

'Is that what happened, Malfoy?' said Professor Merrythought, looking down at Abraxas. Abraxas closed his eyes, a pained expression on his face, and nodded feebly.

'But, Professor!' protested Minerva, but Professor Merrythought cut her off.

'Disgraceful, McGonagall,' she fumed. 'Twenty points from Gryffindor for duelling in the corridors, and detention.'

'What!' said Minerva, stunned. Had Professor Merrythought still been looking downwards, she would have seen Abraxas open his eyes and leer maliciously.

'Professor,' began Jeff indignantly, 'Minerva was…'

'Not another word from any of you!' shouted Professor Merrythought, and with that she turned on her heel and marched back up the stairs.

'You see, Minerva?' simpered Umbridge, squirming her way through the dispersing crowd. 'A nasty temperament never wins anyone friends.' Smiling in the manner of a cat that has just swallowed a canary, she seized Abraxas by the arm, helped him to his feet, and strolled away with him, giggling.

'Bloody hell,' snarled Jeff, his hand tightening around his wand. 'What a pack of liars. And something must be going on with Merrythought, I've never seen her in such a foul mood before. Are you all right?'

'Yes,' said Minerva blankly. 'Oh, Merlin, my parents are going to be furious.'

'I'm sorry,' sighed Jeff. 'I should have said something.'

'You tried.' Minerva managed a smile. 'Merrythought just wouldn't listen to you.'

'I suppose.' Jeff glanced at Minerva. 'Thanks, by the way. I mean, I get that sort of talk all the time from the Slytherins, you shouldn't have actually hexed him, not for my sake.'

Minerva shrugged. 'You would have done the same for me.'

* * *

To Minerva's utter fury, Professor Merrythought scheduled her detention for the same evening she was slated to have her first Animagus training with Dumbledore, and no amount of pleas or protests would change the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher's mind. Finally, Minerva appealed directly to Dumbledore.

'Professor, you have to understand, it wasn't my fault, Malfoy provoked me by calling Jeff all sorts of horrible things…'

'Be that as it may, I'm afraid there's nothing I can do to change Professor Merrythought's mind and, believe me, I say this from experience,' sighed Dumbledore. 'She is your teacher and has every right to give you detention. I, unfortunately, cannot try to contradict her.'

'But it's not _fair_ ,' Minerva burst out in anger.

'I know it's not fair, but sometimes we all must deal with unfair situations as best we can, and hope for the best next time.' Dumbledore leaned forward in his chair and tried to make eye contact with Minerva, who was now steadfastly looking at the ground. 'Try to think of it as one of those annoying little things we professors like to call "life lessons," Minerva,' he said gently. 'The time will come when you will need to learn to keep your mouth shut and control your temper. I do not mean to sound harsh, but you could end up with far worse than detention.'

Minerva shot him a wounded glare, and stormed out of the Transfiguration professor's office slamming the door behind her. Dumbledore sighed and shook his head.

* * *

At 8 o'clock precisely the next Wednesday, Minerva met Ogg the gamekeeper in the Entrance Hall. After exchanging nods, Ogg pulled the heavy doors of the castle open with a loud wooden creak, and the two started off down the slope of the silvery lawn.

'You'll be picking unicorn hairs out of the brambles of the Forest,' explained Ogg, tossing Minerva a coarse burlap sack.

'What for?' asked Minerva dully, figuring she ought to know why exactly she was being put through this exercise.

'Wand cores, potions, remedial purposes,' grunted Ogg. 'Now, you make sure you don't go too far into the Forest – be sure you can always see the castle from where you are. Meet me back by my hut at half past ten. Understood?'

Minerva nodded. Swinging the sack over her shoulder, she took a deep breath to steel herself, and strode into the darkness of the Forbidden Forest without looking back.

Nearly two hours later, Minerva had had enough. The sack was nowhere near full, but there was a good number of strands at the bottom of the sack, and she was sure that she was not supposed to fill up the entire sack in the first place. Minerva straightened up and stretched, feeling her neck and back crack after having spent so much time bent over. Her hands were scratched and bleeding from the sharp brambles, and as she opened the sack to assess the amount of hairs she had gathered, a few drops of dark blood feel onto the mass of softly glowing silver.

All of a sudden, Minerva looked up, certain she had heard something nearby. She narrowed her eyes, but could see nothing. Suddenly, she realized in a panic that she had forgotten to make sure that she could see the castle at all times. Turning about anxiously, all she could see were the identical trunks of dark trees, fading after a few feet into the shadows of the forest.

A rustling noise made Minerva jump, and this time she was certain she could hear a low, raspy breathing coming from somewhere near. She swallowed dryly, trying her best to quiet her pounding heart, telling herself to think rationally, to figure out which was the castle was. She glanced up at the moon, a perfectly round orb suspended amidst the stars. It was slightly to her left, which meant that that she was facing south, so if she had entered the forest from its western end…

Minerva turned to her right, and grinned with relief that at least she had some idea of which direction she needed to go. She took one step. And that was when the attack came.

A snarl was all that Minerva had as a warning as something huge and hairy leapt at her. She screamed and threw herself to the ground, covering her hands with her head. She could feel the beast's hot breath on the back of her neck as it flew overhead and felt a sharp pain in her arm.

'Lumos,' panted Minerva, struggling to her feet. A bright burst of light erupted from the end of her wand, and in its light she saw the werewolf turn and crouch low to the ground, its eyes glowing weirdly. With a howl, it sprang again, and crumpled to the ground as Minerva's Stunning spell hit it.

Shaking wildly, Minerva backed away, as if afraid that the werewolf would jump to its feet at any minute. Her arm was bleeding badly, but she barely noticed. Without taking her eyes from the unconscious animal, she groped behind her for the sack of unicorn hairs, and, glancing briefly at the moon, took a few steps towards the direction of the castle. Then she began to run, ignoring the branches that scratched her and the roots that tripped her. She ran until she reached the edge of the forest, and only then did she fall to her knees, still shaking uncontrollably.

* * *

'You don't look at all well.'

Augusta regarded her friend with concern as they prepared for breakfast the next morning. Minerva had dark bags under her eyes and seemed much more jumpy than usual. Augusta berated herself for the umpteenth time that morning for having fallen asleep before Minerva got back to the portrait hole… what kind of a friend was she, anyway?

'I'm fine,' insisted Minerva wearily.

'No, you're not,' said Augusta firmly. 'Was detention really that bad?'

Minerva hesitated, and then nodded. Augusta grabbed her by the arm, and Minerva winced.

'Minerva… what in Merlin's name happened?' demanded Augusta as she stared down at the long, blood-crusted gash on Minerva's forearm.

Minerva took a deep breath, and then told Augusta the whole story. By the time they had reached the portrait hole, Augusta's eyes were wide with disbelief.

'So you left the sack on Ogg's doorstep and came back here?' she whispered.

'I know, I should have waited, but I panicked, Augusta, I didn't know what to do!'

'I'm not blaming you!' said Augusta quickly. 'I mean, a werewolf… Merlin, you're lucky you weren't killed!'

'I know,' said Minerva weakly. 'Thanks,' she added to Paul Longbottom, who was holding the portrait hole open for the two girls.

'You're both very welcome,' said Paul, shooting a meaningful glance at the conspicuously silent Augusta.

'That Paul Longbottom,' sniffed Augusta as soon as the portrait hole was closed behind them. 'He always acts like we can't manage for ourselves…'

'He's just being polite, Augusta,' said Minerva, laughing a bit in exasperation. 'You could say thank you yourself, you know.'

'Well, never mind that,' said Augusta, waving her hand impatiently in the air. 'You need to tell somebody. And your arm!' Augusta stopped in her tracks. 'Merlin, you weren't bitten, were you?'

'No, Augusta,' snapped Minerva, unconsciously rubbing the gash. 'Haven't you been paying attention to what Professor Merrythought's been saying in Defence Against the Dark Arts? Werewolf bites disappear within an hour or so after occurring. This has been here all night.'

Augusta sighed. 'Thank goodness. You had me worried to death there for a moment. But you still should tell someone.'

'I was planning to. You don't know where Professor Dippet's office is, do you?'

Augusta thought for a moment. 'You know, I don't think I do,' she said slowly. 'Sorry, Minerva.'

'It's all right.' Minerva sighed. 'I suppose we'll just have to hope we see him some time today, then…'

But luck was with Minerva, for halfway down to the Great Hall, she encountered not only Professor Dippet, but Professors Dumbledore and Merrythought as well, talking amiably with one another as they made their way down to breakfast.

'Professor!' gasped Minerva, dashing forward. Professor Dippet turned around and regarded Minerva with a kind smile.

'And a good morning to you, Miss McGonagall. Is everything all right?'

'No sir,' said Minerva so insistently that Professor Merrythought raised her eyes at her. 'Last night, I had a detention in the Forbidden Forest, and I was attacked by a werewolf.'

Professor Dippet glanced at his colleagues, and then back at Minerva. 'You… what? Surely you're joking, Miss McGonagall…'

'I was attacked,' repeated Minerva, rolling up her sleeve. 'And if you don't believe me…'

'Good heavens!' gasped Professor Merrythought, clutching at her chest as she stared at Minerva's arm, wide-eyed.

'Are you all right, Minerva?' asked Dumbledore seriously. 'Do you remember having been bitten?'

' _No_ ,' said Minerva. 'The worst I got was this scratch, but other students might not be so fortunate…'

'A werewolf,' muttered Dippet, wringing his hands. 'A werewolf, on the Hogwarts grounds… oh my, this is going to cause such a scare if word gets out…'

'I will speak to Professor Kettleburn today,' said Dumbledore calmly to the Headmaster. 'All preventative measures will be taken to ensure that no other students are harmed.'

'Are you quite sure it was a werewolf, McGonagall?' said Professor Merrythought in a low voice, leaning forward to examine Minerva's arm.

'Positive,' said Minerva. 'It had a blunt snout and a tufted tail – I could see that much when I lit my wand.'

'Good girl,' said Professor Merrythought gruffly, looking pleased that Minerva had remembered that much from her class. 'You'd best get to the Hospital Wing, get that treated…'

'Yes, Professor.'

'And…' Professor Merrythought absently pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she let out a sigh. 'I'm sorry for having put you in this position, with the detention and all. I had no idea it would lead to this…'

Minerva considered taking the opportunity to make some sort of snide comment about the fact that she could have been killed because of Abraxas Malfoy's despicable nature, but remembered what Dumbledore had said to her and instead bit her tongue and shrugged.

'It wasn't your fault, Professor.'

'Yes, well, you'd better move along, then,' said Professor Merrythought awkwardly, waving her hand in the direction of the Hospital Wing.

'I'll see you later,' muttered Minerva to Augusta, 'I'll just go get this healed, and meet you down at breakfast…'

'Right, see you,' said Augusta, and she started off down the nearest staircase. As she headed in the direction of the Hospital Wing, Minerva glanced back over her shoulder at her professors. All three were talking to each other in low voices, and not one of them looked cheerful any more.

* * *

As Minerva had suspected, Madam Malus was able to heal her arm in less than a minute.

'Sending students out into the Forbidden Forest, what nonsense,' the witch muttered to herself as she squeezed a foul smelling potion onto the gash. 'Whatever happened to the days of having students write lines, clean cauldrons, reorganize cupboards? No sense of safety, I tell you…'

With that she tapped Minerva's arm briskly with her wand to make it as good as new, and forced Minerva to choose a bar of Honeydukes chocolate from a large stash in her office before she left the Hospital Wing.

'What on earth happened!' whispered Pomona to Minerva as she slid into the desk next to her in Charms. 'Augusta was saying…'

'I'll tell you later,' whispered Minerva, slipping both Pomona and Augusta large slabs of chocolate. 'It's a long story, so I'll just tell you and Jeff at the same time. And don't worry, I'm _fine_ ,' she said in mild exasperation as Pomona opened her mouth concernedly.

But Jeff was not at lunch, nor at dinner. Nor was he in the Hospital Wing when Minerva, Pomona, and Augusta went to go look for him. Finally, when he was still missing the next morning at breakfast, Minerva had the good sense to ask Professor Merrythought if she had any information.

'Jeffrey Cunningham?' she said, raising an eyebrow in surprise at Minerva. 'I'm sorry, I thought he was going to send you an owl. Otherwise I would have told you that he had left.'

'Is he all right?' asked Minerva anxiously.

'I hope so,' sighed Professor Merrythought, leaning back in her chair with a worried expression on her face. It suddenly struck Minerva that Professor Merrythought, although strict and disciplinarian on the exterior, cared about her students as individuals more than she let on. It was a bizarre but strangely comforting thought.

'You hope so?' repeated Minerva tentatively.

'I don't think I should tell you everything I've been told, as I might be wrong on some points,' Professor Merrythought said, leaning forward and fixing Minerva with a serious look, 'but he was called away because of some sort of family emergency, the nature of which I will leave him to discuss with you, if he feels comfortable enough. I believe he will be back in a few days.'

Minerva nodded stiffly, trying not to imagine what had happened as images of all of Jeff's family flashed through her mind. With a brief thank you to her professor, she turned to leave the classroom.

'And Minerva?'

Professor Merrythought's use of her first name caught Minerva off her guard. She turned back and waited to hear what the old Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher had to say.

'I know you're a good friend of Jeff's and you already know this, but I feel obliged to say it anyway,' said Professor Merrythought. 'I think that Jeff will probably need all the help and support he can get when he returns, so please, if you and Miss Sprout and Miss Witherspoon could just be there for him…?'

'Of course,' replied Minerva, unsure of how else to respond.

'Good girl,' said Professor Merrythought, smiling a tense smile at Minerva. 'Takes a good deal of worry off my mind to know that boy has friends like you, it does…'

* * *

True to Professor Merrythought's prediction, Jeff was back within the next few days, but from the moment Minerva saw him, she could see that he had changed. Instead of the enthusiastic greeting she had expected, all Jeff did was give her a weak smile and a slight nod. His face was tired and drawn, and throughout their classes together on his first day back, Minerva noted that he no longer raised his hand to answer every question asked, preferring to sit silently looking at his desk.

Minerva was not quite sure what to do, and from the uncertain looks Augusta kept on shooting in Jeff's direction all through the day, she was quite certain that Augusta had no idea what to do either. Even Pomona, who was usually the best at communicating amongst her friends, seemed at a loss when the four were assembled in the Library that evening. There seemed to be a lack of gossip, and between laughs that seemed too loud and worried glances, an awkward silence stifled even the usual light-hearted banter between the three girls.

Augusta and Pomona finally could no longer stand the silence and retreated to the familiarity of their respective dormitories. Minerva, however, remained at the table to work on her Herbology sketches, listening to the scratching of Jeff's quill as he worked to make up a Potions paper he had missed. As much as she longed to follow Augusta back up to the Gryffindor common-room, she had the feeling that Professor Merrythought's words would haunt her all night long if she left Jeff here all by himself.

She did not look up until the scratching of Jeff's quill stopped.

'You don't have to stay for my sake, you know,' Jeff said quietly.

Minerva blinked. 'I know,' she said hastily. 'I mean… I…'

'Yeah,' said Jeff. He sighed, rubbing his eyelids with the tips of his fingers. 'I suppose it's hard to hang around someone so gloomy, isn't it?'

'Of course not!' said Minerva. 'I just… wish I knew what to do, or say. Please Jeff, if there's anything I can do for you, anything at all…'

Jeff laughed mirthlessly. 'Thanks. I really do appreciate it. But, unless you can bring back the dead, I don't think there is.'

Minerva swallowed. 'Do you… do you mind if I ask what happened?' she said softly.

Jeff looked at her, and then quickly looked down at the table. 'My parents,' he said, his voice cracking. 'There was… a fire. Late at night. Amy was at a friend's house to practice for some recital, thank God, but they… By the time any help got there, they were trapped…' He roughly brushed a few tears from his cheeks, still staring at the tabletop.

Minerva reached out a hand and hesitantly laid it on top of Jeff's. 'Oh, Jeff,' she sighed. 'I'm so sorry, you don't need to talk about it…'

Jeff shook his head, sniffing hard. 'I need to just let it out once, I suppose. I've been having nightmares about it. Sometimes I'm in the room with them, being burned alive, and sometimes I'm with Amy, coming home and finding just the burnt-out structure of the house and all the neighbours gathered round, nothing left in the world except for her violin…'

'She has you,' Minerva reminded him cautiously.

'Yeah, and a fat lot of help I am,' spat Jeff. 'Sitting here, learning magic when I could have been there to help them escape…'

'You can't blame yourself,' said Minerva sternly. 'Jeff, stop thinking that, what could you have done…?'

'I don't know!' he burst out. 'I don't know, but even _being_ there would have been better than being here.' He buried his face in his hands. 'I wish I'd just died with them. Then I wouldn't have to deal with all this.'

Minerva knelt down next to him and prised his hands away from his face. 'Jeff, look at me,' she ordered. ' _Look at me_. Don't _ever_ say that. Think about Amy, how it would be for her if she'd lost her entire family. Think about your parents – _they_ wouldn't have wanted you dead, they'd have been glad you were safe here. And think about us, Jeff – me and Augusta and Pomona… I can't imagine Hogwarts without you, and I'm sure they can't either.'

For a moment neither of them moved: Jeff continued to stare sullenly into Minerva's authoritative glare. Then, with a sigh, Jeff shook his head slightly.

'Merlin, I should have guessed you'd talk some sense into me,' he muttered.

Minerva allowed herself a slight smile. 'I'm glad I did.'

Jeff shook himself and began to put his Potions paper and his quills and ink back into his bag. 'Thanks. For calming me down. And for listening to me too. I needed to get that out just once. I don't think I can talk about it again any time soon.'

'Do you mind if I tell Augusta and Pomona?' asked Minerva. 'I'm sure they'd want to know. I'll tell them to not ask you about it.'

'Sure,' said Jeff dully. 'Might as well tell them now rather than later.' He paused. 'By the way, I should have asked you earlier, but did anything interesting happen here while I was gone? I left right after breakfast the day I got the news…'

'Er, well, I was attacked by a werewolf while doing my detention,' Minerva began offhandedly, 'but…'

'You what!' Jeff looked up at her, stricken. 'What happened? Are you all right?'

'I'm fine, don't worry,' said Minerva soothingly. 'But I'm not going to give you all the details tonight. You need to get to bed, you look exhausted…'

The two left the Library together and walked in silence until they reached the stairwell at which they parted ways.

'Are you sure you're all right?' Minerva asked once more.

'Well enough,' said Jeff with a small smile. 'Actually, could you do something for me?'

'Anything.'

'Write to my sister, will you, if you get the chance,' said Jeff. 'My uncle Jan's going to be taking care of her, but he was already supposed to move to Czechoslovakia to take care of my grandma, her health's been getting worse… Anyway, I know she was a bit nervous about moving to a new country and all, so I was hoping maybe you wouldn't mind… she really seemed to admire you when you came to visit, wouldn't stop talking about you after you left…'

'Of course,' said Minerva. Jeff looked visibly relieved.

'Great. Thanks,' he said. 'I'd try to write myself, but I think I've already said all that I can.'

'Don't worry about it,' Minerva reassured him.

Jeff nodded and left. Minerva watched him until he turned the corner, and then made her way up to her own common-room. She knew she should probably get to sleep, but she did not go up to her dormitory. Instead, she sat down at a table in the common-room, lit a candle, and pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill. She stared into the red-orange flicker of the dying embers in the fireplace, and then began to write:

_Dear Amy_ …


	8. McGonagall Manor

_Dear Minerva;_

_I'm so glad to hear you won your last Quidditch match! (Even if it_ did _mean my brother's team lost – I suppose it would be more accurate to say that I'm glad for you, but sad for him.) It sounds like such an exciting sport… I'd love to watch a match someday!_

_Plzeň is lovely, as always. It's spring, so all of the trees are covered in flowers. School is going fine, and I really like my new violin teacher. I can't thank you enough for the letter you sent when I first moved here – even when I didn't know anyone_ _, it was so nice to know that I had at least one friend out there somewhere._

_The big news now is that Uncle Jan says we might have to move to_ _Praha_ _Prague. (Speaking Czech all day makes me so confused when I have to speak or write in English, I always use Czech words instead of English ones!) Grandmother's health is getting worse and worse, and Uncle Jan says that the best hospitals are in Prague. I'm sad that I'll be leaving the friends I've made here, but excited too – Prague is a beautiful city, and you'll have to come visit us once we've settled in!_

_Oh, and Jeff says that Augusta accidentally told him that your parents told you that he and Pomona and Augusta are all invited to your house this summer. (Does that make any sense at all!) He says that he thinks maybe you didn't talk to him about it for my sake. Well, I think you're being perfectly silly, Minerva – I got to see him over the winter holidays, and letting him go to your house for two weeks at the beginning of the summer holidays is perfectly fine with me, since he'll be here with us for the rest of the summer. (I just wish I could be there too… but even though I'd love to meet your parents and Pomona and Augusta, I can see that it would be very impractical.)_

_As always, take care!_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Amy_

_P.S. And you can go ahead and show Jeff this letter – there's nothing terribly personal written in it, after all._

Having finished reading the letter out loud, Minerva folded it and tucked it back inside her bag. It was a chilly spring day, and rain drummed lightly on the windows of the Library.

'Well, I suppose that settles it, then,' said Augusta, crumpling up yet another draft of her Charms essay and tossing it into a wastepaper basket, which swallowed the parchment and belched.

'Not exactly,' countered Minerva, 'we still haven't heard from Jeff's uncle.'

'He'll be fine with it,' said Jeff, yawning. 'He trusts me not to do anything stupid that would embarrass me in front of your whole family.'

Pomona frowned. 'I don't know, Jeff,' she said slowly. 'I think the main question is, how do _you_ feel about it? I mean, you get to see us all the time, and you haven't seen your family since December…'

Jeff ran his hand through his hair and sighed, obviously torn. 'Well, I think Amy's right,' he said finally. 'I mean, I would love to meet your parents and see your house and all, and it's not like I won't see her soon anyway. Plus, since she's said of her own accord that she won't feel, I dunno, abandoned or something…'

'Well, she should at least come pick you up, since she wants to see some magic and such,' reasoned Pomona. 'That way Jeff doesn't need to feel as guilty, and we don't need to worry about any awkwardness.'

'Always the problem-solver, Pomona,' sighed Augusta, scribbling out another paragraph of her essay, and then tossing the entire parchment into the wastepaper basket and starting over.

'Well, that's settled, then,' said Jeff, sounding most relieved. 'I'll write my uncle, then…'

* * *

A month later found the four friends in a compartment of the Hogwarts Express as it puffed its way through the green hills and over the glittering rivers of Scotland.

'It does seem a bit silly, doesn't it?' said Pomona as she watched the scenery zoom by through the window. 'Taking the train from Scotland to England, only to go back to Scotland…'

Minerva shrugged. 'Don't ask me,' she said. 'Professor Dumbledore seemed to think it was the easiest thing to do, and my parents can just Apparate into London without much trouble.'

'Speaking of Dumbledore,' cut in Jeff, 'what are you going to do about your Animagus training over the summer? Keep going by yourself?'

'I don't think so,' sighed Minerva regretfully. 'I'll just keep on practicing Patronuses and wait until next year to see what else I need to learn, as I don't think there'll be guidelines spelled out in our textbooks.'

'So you've finally gotten the Patronus, then?' asked Pomona eagerly.

Augusta looked up from where she was huddled over a scrap of parchment and groaned. 'Yes, she got the Patronus, and she was too excited to sleep the night she did, she kept waking me up when I started dozing off in the middle of her story…'

'You didn't tell us anything!' said Pomona, sounding only slightly sulky.

'I didn't want to bore you as well,' replied Minerva loftily. 'Besides, as Augusta reminded me, you'll all learn Patronuses eventually too.'

'Well, what's yours?' asked Jeff eagerly, leaning forward.

Minerva grinned. 'An owl,' she answered. 'And Professor Dumbledore says he's been having me work on Patronuses because I'll most likely take the form of whatever my Patronus is, and he wants me to get used to how it feels to control it with my mind…'

'Wow,' sighed Pomona, shaking her head in admiration. 'If I had your brains, Minerva…'

Minerva shook her head exasperatedly. 'What're you writing, anyway?' she asked Augusta, who immediately threw herself over her scrap of parchment and glared heatedly at Minerva.

'None of your business,' she snapped.

* * *

Transporting four teenage wizards from London to Scotland made for tricky magic, even for witches and wizards as accomplished as Alexia and Aeneas McGonagall. Although Aeneas had initially been prepared to set up a Portkey, Minerva, who hated Portkeys, was dead set against it, and talked her father into taking another train back to Scotland. And so, only a few hours after they had unloaded their bags from the Hogwarts Express, Minerva found herself on another train, this time crammed into a compartment with not only her friends, but her parents, who had forsaken their usual robes for a rather plain suit and a tartan dress. Much to her relief, her parents seemed to take to her friends right away; before long, Pomona and her father were discussing court cases involving deaths by dangerous plants, while Jeff tried to explain how an aeroplane flew to her mother. Augusta remained huddled in her seat throughout this time, still scratching away on her parchment in a most secretive manner and adding commentary to the conversations about her at random intervals.

From the train station to a small sputtering car borrowed from the Ministry by Aeneas, up the winding roads through the green hills, and at long last McGonagall Manor loomed into view, perched proudly at the edge of a large lake that sparkled in the late noon sun. It had a wide façade made of white and beige marble, with large windows set into the walls and an emerald green lawn that seeped from the front of the manor and gradually faded into the surrounding green of the hills. Balconies with balustrades graced the front of several of the second-storey windows, and a sweeping staircase that led to the entrance. Although elaborate rococo ornamentation would not have seemed out of place detailing its edges, the manor, like its inhabitants, drew its grandeur from its elegant simplicity.

'Well, this is it,' sighed Alexia as the car shuddered to a halt and the teenagers slid out of the magically expanded backseat. 'Nice and secluded, and of course it has all sorts of enchantments on it to keep Muggles wandering about from detecting it…'

'Do they often come wandering about?' asked Jeff curiously after a moment (he and Pomona had both been staring at the manor with their jaws slightly open).

'More and more so,' grunted Aeneas as he heaved Minerva's bag out of the boot of the car. 'Mainly because some Muggle reporter snapped a photo of the kelpie – all sorts of curious folks have been coming here on holiday ever since…'

'It's not the kelpie's fault!' insisted Minerva heatedly. 'You can't make it leave, Dad, it's just not moral…'

'I never suggested anything of the sort!' replied Aeneas irritably, slamming the boot of the car.

Alexia shook her head, smiling. 'Minerva's grown quite attached to the kelpie in the loch,' she explained to the other three students as Minerva and her father each grabbed a bag and began making their way up the path to the manor, still arguing loudly.

Jeff, Augusta, and Pomona glanced at each other. 'You have a kelpie?' asked Augusta finally in a weak voice.

'Well, I wouldn't say it's _our_ kelpie,' laughed Alexia as she helped Pomona with her bag. 'It's just taken a liking to our family. Don't worry, it's perfectly friendly,' she added, noticing the bewildered looks on the faces of her houseguests.

'This is wild,' said Jeff finally. 'Absolutely wild…'

* * *

The interior of the manor was just as impressive as its façade. Small statues and exotic vases were displayed tastefully in niches in the walls of the manor, which, as Minerva explained with a good deal of embarrassment, were gifts to her father from foreign diplomats. Light streamed through the windows and gleamed in the spacious entrance of the manor, which led into a comfortable sitting room lined with mahogany bookshelves, among which was set a large stone fireplace.

'You don't need to whisper, it's not a library,' laughed Minerva as Jeff and Pomona examined the dusty tomes covering the walls and discussed them in hushed voices. 'Does anyone want anything to eat?'

'We can eat in here?' said Pomona, her voice crescendoing gradually as she gained more and more confidence in her ability to speak without being reprimanded.

'Of course,' snorted Augusta. 'People _do_ live here, you know. Haven't you ever been in a manor before?'

'No,' muttered Jeff and Pomona in unison. There was an awkward pause before Jeff added, 'I _have_ been to the Library of Congress in Washington, D.C., though… that was a bit like this.'

Minerva was about to make some comment about Augusta's utter lack of tact when her father entered the room.

'Well, dinner should be served shortly,' he said cheerfully. 'And, seeing as it remains light so long during the summer, would you be up for a bit of Quidditch after we eat, Jeff? From what Minerva tells me, you're a very good Beater…'

'You have Bludgers?' asked Jeff eagerly. 'Wicked!'

'I take that as a yes, then,' laughed Aeneas. 'And, of course, you two ladies are welcome to join. I think we have enough brooms for everyone, especially since Jeff brought his…'

'We'll watch, thanks,' said Augusta hurriedly as Pomona nodded in agreement.

'Of course,' said Aeneas graciously. 'Well, in that case, best be getting on with dinner…'

* * *

'Your father is a ridiculous Quidditch player,' groaned Jeff late one afternoon as he and Minerva trudged from the loch back to the manor, their broomsticks over their shoulders.

The two weeks he, Pomona, and Augusta were scheduled to spend at McGonagall Manor were nearly over, and Jeff had immensely enjoyed having the freedom to fly whenever he wanted, wherever he wanted. He and Minerva had practiced flying every day of the two weeks, and Aeneas joined them whenever he had time. To Jeff's initial surprise, the older wizard had certainly proven his mettle, despite the fact he was playing against the two best Quidditch players at Hogwarts.

'He's getting old, though,' replied Minerva, shifting the handle of her broom slightly. 'My mum hates it when he flies, she thinks he's going to fall off and kill himself one of these days…'

'He can't be that old, though?' Jeff pursed his lips in thought. 'Forty, forty-five, perhaps?'

Minerva stopped and stared at Jeff, and then began to laugh. 'My dad's almost seventy,' she exclaimed as she began walking again.

'Seventy?' repeated Jeff in shock. 'He looks so young! I mean, my parents…' He stopped abruptly in the middle of his sentence and took a moment to regain his composure. 'My parents were only in their late thirties when they… died.'

'Well, I've heard that wizards start aging about three times as slowly as Muggles once they hit the age of thirty or so, that would explain a fair amount,' said Minerva hurriedly, trying to distract her friend. 'Oh Jeff, I'm sorry, I just…'

'It's all right,' said Jeff gruffly, sniffing slightly. 'It's not normally like this. I just miss them so much from time to time.'

'Anyone would,' said Minerva gently. She wondered if she should reach out and take Jeff's hand to comfort him… it seemed like the right thing to do, but for some reason she found her arm would not obey what her mind was telling it to do. 'They were good people.'

Jeff laughed shakily. 'Nothing like your parents, though,' he added. 'I mean, look at your dad, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and all…'

'That's nothing to me, though,' said Minerva. 'I mean, at home he's always just my dad. And look at your dad, he was a war veteran, that's something.'

'Yeah, I guess.' Jeff sighed a bit and then looked at Minerva suspiciously. 'How did you know that about my dad?'

'He told me,' said Minerva simply as she opened the broom shed behind the house and placed her broom inside. 'At your bar mitzvah party. He came over and told me off for not dancing.'

'That sounds like my dad,' said Jeff, smiling. 'Why weren't you?'

Minerva shrugged. 'I can't dance.'

Jeff raised an eyebrow. 'Can't, or won't?'

'Don't know how,' replied Minerva.

Jeff shook his head in exasperation and leaned his broom against the shed. 'We might have to remedy that right here and now,' he said, grabbing Minerva by the arm and dragging her into the centre of the back lawn. 'At the very least you should know how to waltz. Put your arm on my shoulder,' he instructed, taking Minerva's right hand in his left.

'What?' said Minerva blankly, glancing in bewilderment at where Jeff had just placed his arm around her waist. The next second, what he had said registered, and she quickly put her hand on his shoulder, feeling extremely awkward.

'All right, now move your right foot back, then your left foot back and to the left, and then bring your right foot over so that it's right next to your left,' said Jeff quickly. 'Then do the same thing, only in reverse, starting with your left foot going forward, and that's really all there is to your basic waltz step. Try it…'

Minerva gaped in confusion for a moment, and moved a foot back.

'Other right,' laughed Jeff, nudging the correct leg with his foot. 'All right, now just follow the beat… _one_ , two, three, _one_ , two, three… the accent is on the downbeat of the measure, so you want to put extra emphasis on that step…'

'Jeff, I'm not a musician,' snapped Minerva. 'And it's highly unlikely that I'll ever be able to do this right, so…'

'But you _are_ doing it right!' laughed Jeff. 'See, you _can_ dance.'

'Fine, if you say so,' grumbled Minerva with an impatient sigh. She looked up to ask Jeff a question, and froze when she saw that his face was only inches from hers. An awkward moment that seemed to stretch for an eternity passed before, quite suddenly, Pomona burst out of the back door, twittering with mirth.

'Minerva!' she shouted, and then stopped in her tracks. Minerva and Jeff quickly broke apart, both guiltily looking anywhere but at each other.

'I can talk to you later, if I'm interrupting something,' said Pomona uncertainly, glancing back and forth between her two friends.

'It's quite all right,' said Minerva briskly, stepping forward and flicking her braid over her shoulder in a confident way. 'Jeff was just, er, giving me a quick lesson in dancing. But, sorry, you were saying?'

It took Pomona a moment to regain her line of thought. 'Oh! Yes, about that.' She cleared her throat importantly. 'Well, first of all, two owls just arrived. Congratulations, both of you, you've both been made prefects.'

Minerva and Jeff raised their eyebrows at each other in surprise as Pomona handed each of them an envelope containing a letter and a small prefect badge. (Minerva was extremely glad to note that any awkwardness between them had dissolved completely with this unexpected bit of news.)

'Thank you,' was all that she could think of to say to Pomona.

Pomona waved her hand in the air. 'Well, _I_ wasn't too surprised, it was only logical that you would both get the badges. _However_ , that's not all the news I have.' She giggled. 'I just found out who Augusta's been writing to every day for the last few weeks. It's Paul Longbottom!'

'What?' gasped Minerva, starting to grin. 'I thought she hated him!'

'Apparently they started dating a week or so before school ended,' said Pomona in a conspiratorial undertone. 'But they didn't tell anyone because, well, they were afraid of being teased.'

Minerva glanced at Jeff, and found that he was wearing the same mischievous grin as she.

'Well, we simply can't let them get away with keeping this a secret, can we?' she asked innocently.

'Certainly not,' sniggered Jeff. 'Shall we?'

'I think so,' said Minerva with a wicked grin. 'Come on, Pomona, we have some teasing to do…'

She and Jeff ran laughing into the house. Pomona shook her head, amazed at how infantile her friends could be at times, and followed a moment later.

* * *

Augusta, of course, did not appreciate Minerva and Jeff's constant stream of jibes, however good-intentioned, and stormed up to Minerva's room after only a few minutes, taking her quill and parchment with her. Minerva suspected that Augusta's bad mood may also have been in part due to the fact that she had not been made a prefect like her brother, and decided that enough was enough. She, Jeff, and Pomona spent the rest of the time until dinner playing Exploding Snap, and intended to continue their game after dinner, except that they accidentally burned a hole in the sitting room carpet (which Minerva hastily covered with the corner of a settee) and thought it best to stop.

By eleven o'clock in the evening, Minerva had decided that she was quite exhausted and was ready to go to sleep. She stifled a large yawn with her hand and pushed herself upright in the large, squishy chair she had been seated in. Pomona, who was lying on the rug by the fireplace, also let out a small yawn before continuing to sort her Chocolate Frog cards.

'What time is it?' she asked blearily, rubbing her eyes lackadaisically with one hand.

Jeff stopped his bow in the middle of a complicated passage of a Bach sonata and checked his watch.

'Blimey, it's late,' he exclaimed. 'We should probably go to sleep.'

'Hear, hear,' said Pomona, folding her arms and putting her head down on them. 'You can keep playing, Jeff, I'll just fall asleep right here…'

'What, is that your way of saying I'm boring?' laughed Jeff, turning back a page of his music and beginning the passage again. 'I'm almost done, Minerva, sorry.'

'Not a problem,' sighed Minerva, rising heavily out of her chair. 'I have to go see if Augusta's willing to give me back my room anyway… good night, you two.'

Strains of music faintly echoed after Minerva as she made her way into the entrance hall and up the stairs. She stopped to stifle another yawn when she reached the landing, and that was when she heard heated voices coming from her father's study.

Minerva inched forward towards the door, curious. Her parents rarely fought, and if something was important enough to make them argue, she felt she had every right to know what it was. She leaned her ear against the solid wood and closed her eyes in the darkness of the hallway, as if by doing so her sense of hearing would be augmented.

'Really, Aeneas, I don't see why you're working yourself into such a state over this!' Alexia was saying in a sharp voice. 'He's a perfectly lovely boy – polite, well-mannered, intelligent, and as genuine a friend to Minerva as I've ever seen.'

'I _know_ ,' replied Aeneas harshly.

'Well, then, what's the trouble?' barked Alexia. 'Even if Minerva is interested in being more than just a friend to him, I would have thought that you would have been open-minded enough not to object to that!'

'And I don't,' Aeneas countered calmly. 'I never said I had any problem with Minerva dating a Muggle-born. It's not so much _him_ as everyone else…'

From her position on the other side of the door, Minerva, who was now fully awake, had to suppress a giggle. Her, in love with Jeff! Where on earth had her parents gotten _that_ idea?

'For goodness sake, Aeneas,' snapped Alexia, 'if you're implying that you're worried about what other people will think, it's perfectly ridiculous of you. Don't tell me you've forgotten that if we hadn't eloped, I'd be married to Arcturus Black right now?'

Minerva started in surprise at this previously-hidden bit of information, and wrinkled her nose at the thought that she could have been a Black instead of a McGonagall.

'Your sister always liked him better anyway,' retorted Aeneas. 'So it worked out for the best.'

'Well, even so, there you have it,' finished Alexia. 'Sometimes young people know better than their parents what's good for them.' She sighed wistfully. 'You saw them dancing together today, didn't you, Aeneas? Was it really so long ago that we were the same way?'

'It doesn't feel like it,' admitted Aeneas, his voice losing much of its iciness. Minerva rolled her eyes and prepared herself to leave if her parents started acting too romantic towards each other. 'But you have to realize that times have changed considerably.'

'Enough to change our ability to fall in love?' asked Alexia (Minerva could almost see her mother raise an eyebrow challengingly).

'Alexia, there was no war when we were Minerva's age! Can't you see that the world isn't as safe of a place as it once was?' Aeneas sighed heavily. 'I'm just trying to protect Minerva. It would be so hard for her to see anything happen to Jeff as it is – just think of how much worse it would be if they were involved romantically…'

'Nothing is going to happen to Jeff so long as he stays in Britain,' said Alexia firmly.

'No one thought that anything would happen to the Muggle-borns in Germany and Austria, either, but look what did happen! Three hundred Muggle-born students and teachers tortured or killed by the fanatics who stormed that school near Salzburg… no one could have seen that coming! And look what's happening as a result – schools turning away Muggle-born students, firing Muggle-born teachers, not because they hate Muggle-borns themselves, but because they don't want to be the site of the next massacre!'

'But you can't just assume that anti-Muggle-born sentiments are going to move in from the mainland…' argued Alexia.

'Really.' Aeneas snorted in disdain. 'You should hear some of the people around the Ministry, then. It's horrifying, Alexia, how many purebloods are preaching Grindelwald's doctrines in our very own government – you can tell they've been waiting for a maniac like him to come round.'

There was a long pause, during which Minerva could feel the tensions within the room slowly subside. Then she heard her mother stand up and cross the study to where she presumed her father was leaning on the mantelpiece, staring into the fire, as he often did when under great stress.

'We can't allow uncertainties in the future to dictate our actions in the present,' said Alexia softly. 'I don't think anything will happen to Jeff – he's got a good head on his shoulders and does not seem at all the type to do anything reckless. Besides, with Dumbledore at Hogwarts, I think even someone like Grindelwald would be reluctant to attack the castle.'

'I know,' said Aeneas reluctantly. 'I just feel that she's too young to have to worry about these kinds of things…'

'She can't stay your little girl forever, Aeneas.' Alexia's voice was both firm and regretful. Minerva let out a very soft sigh of impatience, like she always did when her parents were talking about her, and made a face of disgust when she heard her mother give her father a soft kiss on the cheek.

'Let Minerva and Jeff alone for now,' Alexia advised. 'Whatever happens will happen, so it's not worth sacrificing whatever they have at the moment.'

Minerva could sense that the conversation was drawing to a close, and quickly edged away from the door as noiselessly as she could. She immediately almost walked into the wall, reached for her wand so she could light the candles in the sconces on the walls, and realised with a large degree of irritation that it was on her bedside table. As she picked her way down the hallway in the darkness, she mulled over everything she had just heard.

So the war had begun. And students, just like her friends and Minerva herself, were dying as a result. The very thought made her shiver, and as hard as Minerva tried, she could not stop an unbidden image of Hogwarts under attack from creeping into her mind. And her father had said that there were people who supported such actions, within the Ministry itself? Minerva frowned as she realised that, yes, some of the more horrible Slytherins, like Abraxas Malfoy and Orion Black and Dolores Umbridge, would probably like nothing better than to see all of the Muggle-born students thrown out of the schools. Minerva had never hated that particular group of students more than she did as this revelation went through her mind; it was bad enough to put up with their mocking and snide remarks, but that they might stand aside and watch as people like Jeff were tortured and killed… even _enjoy_ watching…

Minerva crashed into a table that stood next to her bedroom door and swore under her breath, rubbing her leg. She felt for the door handle and pushed down on it. Much to her annoyance, it did not turn. Frowning, Minerva rapped on the door with her knuckles, and was even more irritated when no one answered – Augusta must have fallen asleep. Still grumbling under her breath, Minerva started back up the hallway, figuring she would have to ask one of her parents to unlock the door using magic.

And what was all this about Jeff? Did her parents _really_ think he was anything more than just her friend? The idea was laughable – Jeff had never shown any interest in her, and she was almost positive she had never felt any attraction to him. Although, now that Minerva thought about it, Jeff had grown very good-looking over the past few years – his face had slimmed out, his hair had gotten just a bit longer so that the waves were more apparent than ever, and his formerly-gangly frame had filled out from all of the time he had spent hitting Bludgers across the Quidditch pitch. Minerva shook her head, so intent on working through her thoughts that she ran straight into her mother in the hallway.

'Do watch where you're going, Minerva, dear!' said Alexia with a touch of exasperation.

'Sorry, Mum,' apologised Minerva, returning quickly to reality. 'Er, Augusta locked herself into my room, and I was hoping to be able to go to bed some time soon…'

'Oh?' Alexia raised her eyebrows as she made her way up the hallway, lighting the hallway as she went. 'And why exactly did Augusta feel the need to lock herself in your room?'

'I'd rather not say,' muttered Minerva, who was not at all eager to get into a conversation with her mother about relationships with schoolmates.

Alexia's eyebrows rose a bit higher, but she asked no further questions and unlocked Minerva's door with a quick ' _Alohomora_!'

'Good night, dear,' she said, kissing Minerva on the forehead. 'Do try to go to sleep soon, especially since Jeff's uncle and sister are supposed to arrive tomorrow…'

'I know, Mum, good night,' said Minerva as she slipped into her room.

Augusta was lying facedown on Minerva's bed, snoring softly. Minerva rolled her eyes and shook her shoulder.

'I didn't steal your bloody toad, Algie, leave me alone,' muttered Augusta into the bedspread, batting Minerva's hand away.

'Excuse me, Augusta, would you giving me my room back?' Minerva said loudly, trying not to laugh. Augusta groaned unhappily and sat up, blinking sleepily.

'Oh, it's you,' she said in confusion. 'Must have been dreaming.' She sniffed haughtily. 'Well, I suppose I should get out of here before you start making fun of me again…'

'Augusta,' said Minerva quickly, grabbing her friend's hand before she could whisk out the door, 'I just want to say I'm really sorry for everything Jeff and I said earlier today. It was… very childish of us.'

Augusta stared. 'Minerva McGonagall, apologise?' she said finally, a wide grin spreading across her face. 'What caused this sudden change of heart? Is the world about to end?'

'Out, Augusta,' laughed Minerva as she shooed Augusta out of her room, relieved that they would not be parting on a sour note. As she lay in bed, Minerva was a bit sorry to note that Jeff had stopped playing his cello and had gone to bed; the stifling silence left her with nothing to concentrate on but the shadows on the walls and the thought of three-hundred murdered Muggle-born students…

* * *

Jan and Amy appeared at the doorstep of the manor sometime the next afternoon, looking extremely shaky after their first Portkey trip. Aeneas had sent a Portkey letter to the train station in which he explained to Jan what a Portkey was and how to use it, and although it took both a moment to recover from the shock, Jan was quick to commend its efficiency.

'You must be Minerva's parents,' he said, stepping forward with a broad smile to shake Aeneas's hand. 'Fascinating way of travelling, I must say… certainly quicker than a train ride to France and then a boat ride to England…'

'Hello Minerva,' said Amy with a shy smile, hesitating for a moment before giving the older girl a timid hug.

Minerva laughed. 'Good to see you again, Amy,' she said. 'Come on, let's go find Jeff, and you can meet our other friends too…'

Pomona and Augusta took to Amy immediately ('She's adorable!' Augusta whispered gleefully to Jeff after only a few minutes). They spent the next hour or so performing basic magic for the little girl, who gasped in amazement and applauded for even simple tricks like Transfiguring beetles into buttons. It took some time to convince Amy that broomsticks were perfectly safe, but eventually she mustered up enough courage to go for a short fly with Jeff, and it made Minerva smile to see how Amy's face was glowing with excitement when Jeff landed neatly on the ground in front of them.

'Been wanting to take her on a broom for a while,' he admitted to Minerva, wiping a bit of sweat off of his brow, 'but we've never lived anywhere isolated enough to fly without being noticed.' He checked his watch. 'Blast it, I think I should go and pack my trunk, we only have half an hour to get to the station…'

Minerva watched as he raced back to the manor, and started when Amy tapped her on the shoulder.

'Thank you so much for letting me come visit,' she said cheerfully.

'Of course,' laughed Minerva. 'You should thank your uncle for bringing you, not me.'

'Oh, he wanted to come too, I think,' said Amy. 'He misses the United States, and I think he liked being back in a country where everyone spoke English, even if they all had a British accent.' She giggled. 'When we first got to the Czechoslovakia, he said he was really happy that everyone there pronounced his name correctly, with a "y" sound at the beginning instead of a "j" sound, but he looked really happy today when the train conductor called him "John".'

Minerva smiled. 'We should probably get you back up to the manor, since you need to go soon,' she said to Amy. 'Come on, you two,' she added to Pomona and Augusta, 'we're going back to send Amy and Jeff off.'

Minerva was quite pleased to see that her parents and Jan were getting along quite well, and were trying to explain the various complicated aspects of living with and without magic to each other when the students arrived back at the manor.

'I think that's everything,' panted Jeff as he heaved his trunk down the stairs right on cue and put it by his broom. 'Well, I'll see you three all at the start of next term, won't I?' He hugged Pomona and Augusta, but paused for a moment before hugging Minerva too, who, to her mortification, blushed slightly.

'See you around,' she muttered, more to Amy than to Jeff. She missed the look that Pomona and Augusta shot each other upon seeing this.

Jan finally managed to pull himself away from a detailed explanation of Floo powder, and he left by Portkey with his niece and nephew.

'I miss him already,' sighed Augusta. 'Oh, blast it, I don't want to leave tomorrow, Minerva!'

'I know,' said Minerva gloomily. Life would seem very dull around the manor without her friends.

'Well, we'll all still write to each other,' piped in Pomona. 'That is, if Augusta doesn't waste all of her parchment writing to Paul…'

'Don't you start in on it, too!' wailed Augusta melodramatically, throwing a sofa pillow at Pomona. 'Which reminds me, are you going to be writing to Jeff a lot this summer, Minerva?'

Minerva raised an eyebrow. 'No more than usual,' she said. 'Why?'

'Oh, no reason,' said Augusta with a smirk. 'No reason at all.'

Minerva rolled her eyes. 'Maybe I _will_ be glad when you leave, Augusta,' she muttered, and laughed when Augusta threw the other sofa pillow at her.


	9. Slughorn's Christmas Party (and Then Some)

Apparently Augusta had decided over the remainder of the summer holidays that it was no good to be discrete about her relationship with Paul Longbottom, for when Minerva finally found all of her friends on the Hogwarts Express, Paul was seated with his arm around Augusta, chatting happily away with Pomona about Herbology, a subject that he too excelled at.

School began as it always did, in a flurry of new concepts and nights spent poring over thick tomes in a desperate attempt to understand something of the day's lesson. However, since this year was OWLs year, the intensity of the fifth-years' work load seemed to have increased by tenfold from the previous term. Minerva was slightly taken aback when she received an 'Exceeds Expectations' instead of her usual 'Outstanding' on her first Transfiguration paper, and realised that even she would have to work harder. She began to have Pomona drill her every night on whatever they had learned in Herbology, with Jeff helping out where he could.

If there was one problem with Augusta's relationship with Paul, it was that she seemed to no longer care about her classes. She made it quite clear that she would rather spend evenings in the Gryffindor common room with Paul and his friends when she stopped turning up at the Library. Pomona in particular seemed to take this lack of loyalty to heart, and sighed sadly whenever a question about Charms came up amongst the three, for indeed Augusta's Charms marks were the first to drop severely when she stopped doing her schoolwork.

'Her loss,' said Jeff brusquely when he learned about this unfortunate piece of news. Minerva was far from fooled – she knew that underneath Jeff's nonchalant attitude, he was just as upset about Augusta's consistent absence as Pomona.

But when the end of September came, Jeff had other things to distract him. He rushed over to the Gryffindor table one morning and brandished a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ between Minerva and Augusta.

'Look at this!' he hissed angrily. 'They let him take the Sudetenland!'

'Come again?' asked Augusta through a mouthful of porridge.

Jeff slammed the paper onto the table, making more than a few Gryffindors look up in alarm.

'The Sudetenland,' he breathed, 'is part of Czechoslovakia, up in the mountains. And mostly Germans live there, so that bastard Hitler, who happens to be the Chancellor of Germany, decided he had every right to take it. And England and France went ahead and let him take it, never mind what we had to say about it…'

Minerva could tell that Augusta was going to make some comment about Jeff's use of the word 'we,' and shook her head firmly. Fortunately, Augusta took the hint and closed her mouth before anything slipped out.

'Is your family all right?' Minerva asked concernedly.

Jeff waved his hand in the air. 'They're fine, Prague's not part of the Sudetenland. Even Plzeň is outside of the region geographically, but…' He crumpled the paper in his hand. 'Appeasement, they say? He's not going to stop there. He's going to want the whole country.'

'How can you be sure?' asked Minerva reasonably. 'And even if Germany did take over Czechoslovakia, things wouldn't change that much for your family, would they?'

Jeff stared at her for a moment. 'They don't say anything about it in the wizarding newspapers, do they?' he muttered finally. 'Of course they wouldn't, why should they?' He took a deep breath. 'The fact of the matter is, the Germans have been oppressing the Jews in every country they've taken, limiting their civil rights, even forcing them to wear yellow stars on their jackets just so everyone knows who they are, who they have the right to humiliate. And as for where he'll stop… well, he's already taken Austria without batting an eyelash, and I don't think he'll want to stop there…'

_Austria_. Minerva's eyes widened as she recalled a snippet of the conversation she had heard between her parents: _No one thought that anything would happen to the Muggle-borns in Germany and Austria either, but look what did happen! Three hundred Muggle-born students and teachers tortured or killed by the fanatics who stormed that school near Salzburg…_

'Merlin,' she whispered. 'Jeff, you have to tell them to get out of there.'

'I know.' Jeff ran his fingers through his hair. 'Can I borrow Aluco?'

'Of course,' said Minerva dropping her spoon. 'Come on, this is far more important than breakfast…'

The letter that Jeff received from his uncle a few days later was short and to the point:

_Jeff – Please try not to worry too much about us. Things have not changed all that much here, and word has it that the British and the French are taking a strong stance against the possibility of Hitler annexing the rest of the country. I am making plans for us to leave for the States in a few months – your grandmother is still in a fragile state of health, and we are hoping that by spring she will be feeling well enough to move. Don't let things out of your control distract you too much from your studies. Much love, Uncle Jan_

'He's right, you know,' said Pomona reasonably. 'Not to say you shouldn't worry, but there isn't anything you can do about it.'

'Yeah…' Jeff sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. 'Worry about problems closer to home, I guess… _not_ that we have many besides our classes, thankfully…'

Minerva nodded in agreement, quite unaware of the angst that was about to spring up around her life at Hogwarts…

* * *

December arrived in a flurry of snowflakes and high spirits for the Christmas holidays. Although Professor Dumbledore was absent from the castle more and more frequently, Minerva found that not having any additional training sessions was a bit of relief, as it was much easier to cope with the exorbitant amounts of work that the professors had loaded onto them in the weeks before the holidays. As the month wore on, she found she was looking forward more and more to a week of relaxation.

However, the Monday before the holidays, a nasty surprise presented itself in Potions class.

'Minerva, if I could have a quick word with you,' called Slughorn above the din of collapsing cauldrons and cries or ' _Evanesco_!'

Minerva sighed and sidled reluctantly towards Slughorn's desk, dodging her classmates as she did so.

'Yes, Professor?'

'Ah, yes,' said Slughorn, beaming. With some difficultly, he heaved his massive body up onto his desk and sat with his stubby legs dangling off the edge. He clapped his hands together and cleared his throat. 'Well, it's been my tradition ever since I arrived at Hogwarts to hold a Christmas party for my Slug Club members every couple of years or so.'

He paused. Minerva cocked an eyebrow slightly but waited patiently.

'Now, I realise you are often – dare I say always? – too busy to attend our regular meetings,' continued Slughorn, reaching into his desk and pulling out a piece of caramelized pineapple, which he popped into his mouth with a loud smack. 'And, believe me, my dear, I find your studiousness to be a most admirable trait in a student – what teacher could ever object to a student who prefers learning over frivolous parties?' Slughorn let out a short, booming laugh.

'Professor,' began Minerva, 'I'm sorry to say that as the holidays are almost here, we've been getting a lot of homework in nearly all of our other classes…'

'Which is precisely why I've scheduled the party for the day before the holidays begin!' interrupted Slughorn triumphantly. 'Surely you can spare one night of studying for a bit of fun?' He winked.

Minerva nodded tersely, trying to imagine how spending an evening surrounded by conceited Slytherins could ever be fun. At least Jeff would be there…

'Oh, and I nearly forgot… dances aren't much fun without a partner, are they?' Slughorn smiled knowingly, and popped another piece of pineapple into his mouth. 'So please feel free to invite anyone you'd like – I'll be quite cross if you don't, you know!'

'Er, all right,' muttered Minerva, already running through a mental list of excuses that she could refine and use later on.

Slughorn grinned, his walrus moustache bouncing as he chewed on his pineapple.

'Excellent!' he boomed, clapping Minerva on the shoulder. 'This Friday at seven o'clock sharp, then, my office.'

Minerva nodded weakly and left before Slughorn could try to impose any other social obligations on her.

* * *

'What on earth happened to you?' asked Augusta as Minerva slid onto the bench next to her at lunch.

'Slughorn,' she groaned, covering her face with her hands. 'He just talked me into going to some stupid Christmas party for the Slug Club on Friday evening, and I now either have to find a way out, or else get a date…'

Augusta squealed (as well as one can squeal with a mouthful of turkey) and bounced up and down excitedly, earning a bemused look from Paul Longbottom as he sat down next to her.

'Merlin, Augusta, calm down before you choke!' he scolded, putting a firm hand on her shoulder so she would stop bouncing. Augusta ignored him.

'Ask Jeff!' she said once she had swallowed. 'I mean, he's already part of your Slug Club already…'

'It's not _my_ Slug Club,' corrected Minerva with a frown. 'Honestly, I've never been to a meeting, and I can't see why Slughorn keeps on acting like I'm interested, unless he's simply delusional or something…'

'It's because your dad's the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Minerva,' said Augusta in a tone that suggested that this was perfectly obvious. 'And since you're such a brilliant student anyway, he was never going to give up on you.'

'I suppose,' sighed Minerva resignedly. 'You two don't want to come, do you? I mean, seeing as Jeff and I both are allowed to bring a guest… you'd probably enjoy it much more than either of us would, anyway.'

'Sorry, Minerva, can't,' said Paul apologetically. 'I'm supposed to be organising a party in the Gryffindor common room that Friday, so I can't very well leave to go to another party. I suppose you could go with Minerva if you wanted to, Augusta,' he added, though he didn't look at all enthused by the idea.

Augusta smiled sweetly and gave him a quick peck on the nose.

'And why would I want to go to a party without you?' she asked as Paul blushed. 'Sorry, Minerva,' she added over her shoulder.

Minerva shook her head. 'Quite all right.'

'Hey, Jeff!' called Augusta, jumping up suddenly and beckoning across the Great Hall. 'All right, you'd better ask him,' she added in an undertone to Minerva as Jeff made his way around the tables.

'What?' hissed Minerva. 'No!'

'Fine, then, if you need some privacy, Paul and I will leave, but you better not get cold feet, Minerva!'

'I never said I even _wanted_ …' began Minerva, but Augusta had already grabbed Paul by the arm and was dragging him away as he flashed an apologetic grin back at Minerva. Minerva opened and closed her mouth in indignation, and decided that the best way to avoid an awkward situation would be to follow Augusta and Paul… but before she could even get up from the bench, Jeff had arrived at the table.

'What was that all about?' he asked in bewilderment, staring after Augusta. Minerva shook her head.

'Nothing.'

Jeff merely shrugged, by now used to Augusta's inexplicable behaviour.

'Did Slughorn talk you into going to his little Christmas party?' he asked, sitting down next to Minerva. (A few of the other Gryffindors shot him pointed looks, but Jeff ignored them.)

Minerva shut her eyes in exasperation and nodded.

'Thought he would,' said Jeff, shaking his head. 'I couldn't think of a good excuse quickly enough.'

'Me neither,' sighed Minerva.

'Are you planning on bringing anyone?' asked Jeff tentatively after a moment's pause.

'Not really,' said Minerva. 'But, you know, Jeff, you should really invite Pomona. I mean, just in case she feels left out or something… I already asked Augusta and Paul, but they said they didn't want to go.'

'Oh.' Jeff looked slightly crestfallen, but nodded. 'I suppose I should, shouldn't I?' He stood up and swung his bag onto his shoulder. 'I'll see you around, Minerva… don't want to be late for class…'

And away he walked, leaving Minerva to wonder what on earth had prompted that idea, and why she was feeling slightly regretful she had said anything.

* * *

To Minerva's surprise, Pomona declined Jeff's invitation to Slughorn's party when he asked her that evening.

'I'm sorry, Jeff,' she said kindly, 'but I just don't think I'm the right person to invite.' She shot Minerva a pointed look, which Mineva ignored by burying her nose in her Arithmancy book.

'You sure?' asked Jeff, raising an eyebrow.

'Positive,' answered Pomona promptly.

'This is getting to be quite a headache,' groaned Jeff. 'Pity there isn't something I could eat that would make me sick for just one day…'

'You could try enchanting something,' suggested Pomona. 'Candy, or something that will at least taste good before you start feeling ill.'

'Not adventurous enough,' laughed Jeff. 'Besides, I'd probably end up killing myself, and some ridiculous dance really isn't worth that, in my opinion. Well, good night, you two.'

'Minerva,' said Pomona in an accusatory voice once Jeff had left.

'What?' asked Minerva sharply.

'Did something happen between you and Jeff? Because either you two are angry at each other, or he's much denser than I ever would have imagined…'

'What in the name of Merlin are you talking about, Pomona?' Minerva snapped.

'Isn't it obvious?' sighed Pomona. 'You two have liked each other for so long that I was almost sure he was going to ask you to Slughorn's party, or vice versa.'

'I do _not_ like Jeff, Pomona,' snarled Minerva, 'or, at least, not any more than as a friend.'

Pomona raised her eyebrows, thoroughly unconvinced.

'Well, maybe _you_ don't find him attractive in any way other than just as a friend, but there certainly are other girls at this school who would be more than thrilled if he asked _them_ to Slughorn's party…'

'Like who?' spat Minerva.

Pomona shrugged innocently. 'Dolores Umbridge, for one.'

'What?' shouted Minerva, leaping out of her seat and upsetting her inkwell all over the table. 'You're joking.'

'Why on earth would I joke about something like that?' asked Pomona rationally. 'I have Herbology right after the Slytherins and the Ravenclaws, and she's always flirting with him as they're packing their things up. It's really quite revolting.'

'Jeff would _never_ ask Umbridge to Slughorn's party,' said Minerva automatically, not feeling quite as confident as she sounded. 'He hates her.'

'Well, if he gets _too_ desperate, who knows what he might do?' warned Pomona. 'Besides, if not Umbridge, there are always a number of very nice, pretty Ravenclaw girls. Who are _you_ planning on asking, by the way?'

Minerva glared at the table and mumbled a barely understandable 'I have no idea yet.'

Pomona nodded, smiling smugly. 'I see,' she said.

* * *

'So now Pomona seems convinced that Jeff and I are madly in love, or something ridiculous like that,' said Minerva as she and Augusta got into their nightclothes.

Augusta smirked. 'Well…'

'Don't tell me that you think so too!' snapped Minerva.

'Oh, come on, Minerva, why else would I have told you to ask him?' said Augusta, exasperated. 'He's liked you for ages, you know, and I'm a niffler if you don't like him back.'

'Funny, you don't look very hairy to me,' replied Minerva acerbically.

'Oh , shut up Minerva. Honestly, why don't you want to go with him? Couldn't you go as friends, at the least?'

'If I was going to go with him, of course it would just be as friends!'

'Then why haven't you said yes?' Augusta folded her arms and waited for Minerva's answer.

'Because… oh, stop looking so smug, Augusta… because it would be too awkward, that's why.'

Augusta rolled her eyes. 'That's the _point_ of going as friends, Minerva, so that it's not awkward. You have no excuse not to ask him, so I'd better hear from you tomorrow that you've already done so.'

'Good night,' Minerva snapped, pulling the curtains of her four-poster shut.

* * *

There was only one other thing Minerva could think of to do. After Transfiguration she cautiously approached Professor Dumbledore's desk.

'Er, Professor?'

Dumbledore looked up from the letter he was writing and smiled.

'Yes, Minerva?'

'Well…' Minerva took a moment to collect her thoughts. 'You're not available to give me a last lesson on Friday evening, are you? You know, just so I can make sure I won't forget too much over the holidays…'

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow and folded his hands together in that way that reminded Minerva so much of her father.

'I was under the impression that all of Hogwarts was going to be at some party or other that evening,' he said pleasantly. 'And I was very much hoping that you would allow yourself to let your hair down for once and join in the festivities, Minerva.'

'But, Professor!' said Minerva quickly. 'I really would much rather work on getting my Patronus right, I've almost got it completely, and if I could just have a few more tries…'

'As much as I appreciate your enthusiasm, Minerva, I unfortunately have a meeting scheduled with the Minister of Magic that evening,' said Dumbledore. 'When we return from the holidays, I promise you that I will work with you every evening until you can produce a full-fledged Patronus wherever and whenever you have need of one.'

'You're not even going to be here this Friday?' said Minerva dully, realising that she could not even use her private lessons with Dumbledore as a credible excuse.

Dumbledore smiled. 'If I were you, Minerva, I would simply go to Professor Slughorn's party with a friend and enjoy yourself. I suspect you might have a better time than you expect.'

'And what would you know about it, Professor?' snapped Minerva in a considerably ruder tone than she had meant to use.

'As incredible as it may seem, I was once young and fully capable of feeling awkward in social situations,' said Dumbledore cheerfully. 'Fortunately, I, along with the rest of my classmates, grew out of that phase eventually. And so, with that said, you'd best get to your next class, Minerva… and,' he added with a wink, 'best of luck.'

* * *

Minerva McGonagall was not used to defeat. Being unaccustomed to the feeling, she first reacted by silently blaming everyone around her for betraying her, and then spent the next day basking in sullen self-pity. However, by Thursday afternoon, she had become tired of Augusta and Pomona's constant hinting whenever Jeff was out of hearing range.

'Jeff, could I have a quick word?'

Jeff stopped on the steps of Hogwarts on his way back from the greenhouses. 'Yeah, sure.'

Snow was falling lightly onto the Hogwarts grounds. Jeff's cheeks were tinged pink in the cold, and he pulled his blue-and-silver scarf a bit tighter about his neck as he drew Minerva aside.

'You all right?' he asked, frowning slightly. 'You look a bit stressed about something.'

'I'm fine.' Minerva exhaled slowly, her breath sending crystalline spirals through the frigid air. 'Er, you don't want to go to Slughorn's party with me by any chance, do you? Just as friends, of course,' she added quickly.

Jeff's frown slowly widened into a grin. 'Yeah, sure.'

'Really?' said Minerva, feeling her shoulders drop about two inches as they relaxed.

'Really.' Jeff looked down at the ground, his cheeks flushing even a little pinker. 'I would have asked you, but you didn't seem interested.'

'Oh, well, I…' Minerva too looked at her feet, unsure of how to respond. After a long pause, they both began to laugh somewhat nervously.

'So, I guess that's settled, then,' said Jeff as nonchalantly as he could. 'I'll meet you in the Great Hall at 6:30 tomorrow evening, then.'

'All right,' said Minerva, still not quite having the nerve to look Jeff in the eye. Smiling slightly, she rushed up to Defence Against the Dark Arts as quickly as she could.

'Where on earth were you?' hissed Augusta as Minerva slid into her seat.

'Asking Jeff to Slughorn's party,' mumbled Minerva.

Augusta squealed and accidentally ignited her desk on fire.

'Thank goodness for that,' she whispered excitedly as Minerva hastily put out the fire. 'You're going to have to tell me _everything_ , and you'd better say yes.'

'Not like I have much of a choice,' said Minerva with a slight grin.

'What are you going to wear?' asked Augusta. 'Oh, this is so exciting…'

'Wear?' repeated Minerva blankly.

'Oh, come on, Minerva, you can't just go in your normal everyday robes,' hissed Augusta impatiently. 'I'll see if I have anything you can wear…'

'Miss Witherspoon,' said Professor Merrythought sharply, 'if you do not refrain from talking this instant, I shall have to give you detention.'

Augusta sighed impatiently, but quickly turned away from Minerva and began practicing a Shield Charm under her breath.

* * *

Before Minerva had time to even convince herself to calm down, Friday afternoon had arrived.

'This is going to be so much fun,' giggled Augusta, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet and rubbing her hands together in anticipation.

'Sure,' said Minerva dully, staring at the canopy of her four-poster.

'All right, Minerva, come on, you need to get ready,' scolded Augusta, walking over to Minerva's bed and grabbing her hand. Amidst many protests, she dragged Minerva to a seated position and bustled over to her trunk.

'Hmm… well, I don't think that gold would go very well with your complexion,' said Augusta, more to herself than to Minerva. 'Blue… no… red, maybe, but… oh!' She pulled a green silk dress out of her trunk. 'Perfect!'

Minerva stared. 'I'll look like a Slytherin.'

Augusta scoffed. 'Minerva, it's a _party_ , not a Quidditch match, and besides, it's Christmas, everything is red or green at this time of year. Just put it on, will you …'

Half an hour later, Augusta had finally convinced Minerva to get into the green dress, and was finishing up doing her hair and makeup.

'I don't think I've ever worn makeup in my life before today,' muttered Minerva as Augusta powdered her face. She sneezed. 'Augusta, are you almost done, or are you going to completely obscure my features with whatever it is you're using?'

'Oh, stop being so melodramatic, Minerva, I'm almost done.' With one last flourish of a brush, Augusta stood back and admired her work with considerable pride.

'You look stunning,' she announced. 'Jeff is going to be very impressed.'

'Jeff likes me for who I am, thank you very much,' snapped Minerva, sliding off the edge of her bed. 'I don't think that makeup will change that.' She stopped when she caught sight of herself in the mirror, and quickly looked away pretending to be uninterested. Augusta was not fooled.

'Have fun being beautiful,' she said with a knowing smile as Minerva tapped her glasses with her wand to turn them green and started down the staircase to the Gryffindor common room.

* * *

Jeff was waiting in the Great Hall, tugging nervously at the edge of his dress robes, when Minerva arrived precisely ten minutes early.

'Wow,' he said, raising his eyebrows. 'You look really nice.'

'Thanks,' said Minerva breathlessly, trying not to trip as she traipsed down the last few stairs to where her friend was standing. 'So do you. So, shall we go?'

Minerva had never been inside Slughorn's office before, but she was almost certain that this was not how it usually looked. The lights had been dimmed to a low yellow glow, and twinkling faeries flitted about them. Classical music drifted dreamily from the ceiling, which had been draped with shimmering gold, red, and green banners. Assorted students, most of them Slytherins, stood in small groups throughout the room, speaking in low murmurs to each other and shooting conspiratorial glances at the other students assembled. As she and Jeff entered the office, Minerva caught sight of Dolores Umbridge, dressed in a revolting pink dress positively drowning in frills and bows, and Abraxas Malfoy, who looked more than displeased with the date he had ended up with. Both Slytherins shot Minerva and Jeff nasty glares when the Gryffindors appeared.

'I vote we avoid them,' muttered Jeff, steering Minerva in the opposite direction towards a table laden with desserts. 'Easier to breathe over here, at any rate…'

A moving platter nearly bumped into Minerva as it zoomed up and shuddered to a halt.

' _Hors d'oeuvres_?' squeaked the voice of a house elf in what was obviously a carefully-practiced French accent, poking his head out from under the platter and regarding the students with large eyes.

'Thank you,' said Minerva politely, taking a few devilled eggs for herself. She grabbed a few extras for Jeff when she saw that he was too stunned to do anything himself.

'What _was_ that?' he muttered in an undertone to Minerva when the house elf had scooted away.

'House elf,' responded Minerva, handing Jeff a plate and fork. 'They work as servants in wizarding households… I think my mum's family had one, but he went to my mum's older sister.'

Jeff nodded, still staring after the house elf. Then, all of a sudden, he elbowed Minerva in the arm, making her nearly drop her plate.

'Slughorn's coming,' he warned. 'We'd better get ourselves lost in the crowd quickly if we don't want him asking any obnoxious questions.'

But it was too late. Slughorn had already spotted the pair and was lumbering awkwardly through the conversing students, grinning.

'Minerva!' he boomed. 'Delightful to see you… and Jeffrey too, what an honour…'

'Er, hello Professor,' said Jeff awkwardly as Minerva nodded in acknowledgement, trying to swallow her mouthful of egg.

'So nice to finally see you both at one of my little gatherings… and I do hope you're both enjoying yourselves?' Slughorn asked. Both Minerva and Jeff nodded politely.

'Splendid,' said Slughorn, satisfied. Without so much as a pause, he planted himself between Minerva and Jeff, turned towards Minerva, and segued into the next topic of conversation. 'I've actually been meaning to talk to you for some time, Minerva. Is it true, as I've heard from reliable sources, that your father is Aeneas McGonagall?'

'Er, yes,' said Minerva, desperately trying to think of some way to change the subject.

' _The_ Aeneas McGonagall? The Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?' Slughorn pressed.

'Yes,' repeated Minerva, by this point outright annoyed at Slughorn's attempts to play innocent – how many other Aeneas McGonagalls were there, really?

'Fascinating,' said Slughorn. 'I suppose other Heads of Departments must be over dining at your house quite frequently, seeing as your father has such a prominent position within the Ministry…'

'Not really,' Minerva lied. 'My father carries out most of his work-related business outside of our house.'

Slughorn's face drooped momentarily with disappointment, but quickly sprang into a smile again as he opened his mouth to ask another question. Before he could, however, a low gong sound echoed from the ceiling.

'My apologies,' he said. 'I have to go address the rest of the crowd, if you'll excuse me for a moment…'

Minerva nodded, not regretful at all. 'Sorry about that,' she whispered to Jeff as Slughorn pushed his way to the front of the office.

'I was expecting it,' muttered Jeff, who nonetheless looked a bit angry at having been shut so completely out of the conversation.

'Ladies and gentleman!' roared Slughorn over the crowd. 'A very warm welcome to my Christmas party! Now, I know you're probably eager to get straight to dancing, but first I must introduce a few special, important guests…'

'Well, well,' sneered Abraxas Malfoy's voice from behind Minerva. 'You finally had the nerve to show your face.'

Minerva glanced over her shoulder and raised an eyebrow. 'Oh?'

Abraxas smirked. 'Or didn't anyone tell you? Mudbloods and Mudblood-lovers aren't usually welcomed into the Slug Club, isn't that right, Orion?'

Orion Black, who was a year younger than Minerva, lazily picked a chocolate truffle off of the table and smiled coldly at Minerva. 'My father says that Mudbloods shouldn't even be at this school, let alone in a club meant for _exceptional_ witches and wizards. He thinks they're going about things in the right way in Germany and Austria.' With a satisfied smirk, he popped the chocolate into his mouth.

'I beg your pardon?' said Jeff, turning around and eyeing Orion in distaste. 'Your father thinks that massacring children is a _good_ thing? Not to mention all of the mysterious disappearances of the most well-known Muggle-born witches and wizards in eastern Europe…'

'Glad to see that you can read the _Daily Prophet_ , Cunningham,' sneered Abraxas. 'But, of course, you wouldn't be able to understand the intricacies of the pureblood mindset, not with your muddy mind.'

'Malfoy, I'm this close to jinxing you again… both of you, actually,' snapped Minerva.

'You wouldn't,' said Abraxas confidently. 'Not in the middle of a party you wouldn't.'

'Besides, McGonagall, what would your mum and dad say about your attacking your own cousin?' smirked Orion. 'Blood traitors though they are, surely they've not reverted so far from the standards of a pureblood that they've lost all sense of propriety…'

'You'd be surprised at how tolerant my parents can be when it comes to disregarding pureblood values,' Minerva snarled, drawing her wand from her dress robes.

'Abraxas!' simpered the girlish voice of Umbridge as she flounced up to the dessert table. 'Where _have_ you been?'

Abraxas closed his eyes in irritation as Umbridge seized his arm, giggling. 'Just chatting with Orion and these two here, Dolores, nothing to worry about.'

Umbridge glanced over at Minerva and Jeff, and stopped smiling immediately. 'You,' she said coldly. 'What are you doing here?'

'For reasons unfathomable to any rational mind, Professor Slughorn has let them into the Slug Club,' said Orion, reaching for another chocolate. Suddenly he froze, and shot the other Slytherins a meaningful look.

'He is here,' he said in a low voice filled with reverence. Instinctively, Minerva turned and followed Orion's gaze to the far end of the room, where Tom Riddle had appeared, dressed smartly in black dress robes with a package wrapped in green paper tucked under his arm.

Minerva glanced at Jeff, and could tell that he too was on the verge of laughing. Why would three Slytherins with rather high opinions of themselves act as though the Minister himself had arrived at Slughorn's party, when it was only Tom Riddle, a scrawny third-year whose orphaned status should, by all reasoning, have made him a target of ridicule by Slytherin standards? Abraxas muttered something to Orion as they watched Riddle make his way across the room, stopping to greet Slughorn and hand him the package as he did so.

'Oh, listen!' said Jeff abruptly. 'They're playing dance music.' He looked pointedly at Minerva, who wholeheartedly accepted the opportunity to escape four ill-tempered Slytherins and their Head of House in one go.

'Sorry,' he muttered as they walked out onto the dance floor. 'I didn't think I could stand any more of that rubbish.'

'It's fine,' Minerva replied. 'Any conversation involving Dolores Umbridge can't end soon enough.'

Jeff laughed. 'Too true.'

The two fell into a waltz step and let a silence stretch between them for a few moments.

'Orion Black is your cousin?' asked Jeff suddenly.

'Unfortunately,' growled Minerva, her nostrils flaring at the mention of the boy's name. 'Of course, as you might have noticed, our parents don't share many similar views, so we never see his family, except at weddings, and funerals, and other family events where we simply can't avoid them.'

'I don't blame you,' said Jeff sympathetically. 'I think I would have to disown my entire family if Abraxas Malfoy or someone was related to me.'

'Did you see his face?' Minerva giggled suddenly. 'When Umbridge ran up and leached on to him like that.'

Jeff smirked. 'I never thought I'd feel sorry for a Slytherin, but I have to admit, I came pretty close to it right there.'

'Pomona says she fancies you, though,' Minerva said hesitantly.

Jeff made a face. 'Sadly, yes.'

'I take it the feeling isn't mutual, though,' Minerva said wryly. 'Pomona also implied that if you got too desperate for a date, you might have ended up like Malfoy over there, with a frilly toad for a dance partner.'

Jeff grinned and twirled Minerva around in a circle. 'Thankfully, she wasn't my only other option, and I have to admit that I did come fairly close to asking one of my Ravenclaw friends.' He leaned forward to whisper into Minerva's ear. 'But I can't think of anyone I'd rather be dancing with right now than you.'

Minerva smiled, a touch embarrassed, and let her head rest on Jeff's shoulder for a moment, until a sharp, stinging pain in her shin made her gasp and straighten upright. She turned her head just in time to see Dolores Umbridge pass by her, a look of jealous rage contorting her amphibian-like features.

'Are you OK?' asked Jeff, catching Minerva as she wobbled unsteadily on her uninjured leg.

'Oh yes, I'm fine, other than the fact that Umbridge just fractured my shin,' snapped Minerva sarcastically. 'I think I need to sit down for a moment…'

Jeff kept a firm grip on Minerva's elbow as she limped to a chair. The moment she had taken a seat, however, she noticed Slughorn quickly break away from the guest he was speaking with and head in her direction.

'Let's get out of here, shall we?' muttered Jeff, hauling Minerva to her feet again and dragging her towards the door. 'The faerie lights are giving me a headache anyway.'

And the two quickly slipped out the door before Slughorn could shove his way through the throng of people.

Outside in the hallway, Minerva leaned against the wall with a sigh of relief and assessed what damage had been done.

'Ouch.' Jeff winced as he examined Minerva's shin, which was already turning an impressive shade of deep purple. 'Do you need to go to the Hospital Wing or anything?'

'I'm _fine_ , Jeff,' said Minerva impatiently. 'It's just a bruise, I'm not dying or anything.'

'Well, nonetheless, is there anything I can do to help?' asked Jeff somewhat meekly.

Minerva shook her head. 'But thanks for your concern,' she added after a moment's reflection. 'Oh no…'

'What?' said Jeff quickly.

'The dress,' groaned Minerva, staring in misery at where the stubby heels of Umbridge's shoe had ripped a large hole in the lining. 'It's not mine, it's Augusta's.'

With a sigh of dismay, Minerva let herself slide slowly down the wall, where she sat with her head leaned back against the wall and her eyes closed. Jeff stared at her for a moment, and then began to laugh.

'Nothing magic won't fix,' he reminded her.

Minerva opened her eyes. 'Oh. Right.'

Jeff sat down next to her, and the two stared at the opposite wall for a few moments, each secretly hoping that the other would be the first to break the silence. It struck Minerva as almost comical, how the fancy clothes and formal situation seemed to swallow up whole their ability to jabber happily away about some class or other…

'So,' said Jeff finally, 'did you want to go back inside, or not? Because I for one would not mind in the slightest avoiding Slughorn and the rest of his little Slytherins until after the holidays, thanks very much.'

'Same,' said Minerva, who was glad to know that Jeff didn't mind being dragged away from the party. 'Er, shall we go somewhere else, then?'

Jeff raised an eyebrow. 'Can you walk?'

'Well enough,' said Minerva defensively, rising to her feet and gingerly putting her weight on her leg. 'Come on, let's get out of here before anyone else decides to harass us…'

* * *

Augusta, clad in her nightgown and slippers and wrapped in a fuzzy scarlet-and-gold blanket, was snoring lightly in a large chair in the corner of the Gryffindor common room when Minerva entered. The fire was only a flicker in the grate, and when Minerva prodded it with her wand to make it flare up again, she saw that the common room had definitely sustained its share of damage. Half-empty bottles of butterbeer sat abandoned on side tables and bookshelves, a bedraggled banner sporting the Gryffindor lion hung from the ceiling by only one side, and the room smelled faintly of Dungbombs, which made Minerva more than suspect that there had been a friendly but fierce fight earlier that evening.

As Minerva stoked the fire, Augusta woke with a start, blinked a few times, and then leapt out of her chair, the tinsel and confetti that had been caught in her hair floating lazily to the ground in her wake.

'So, how was it?' she asked eagerly as soon as Minerva turned around. 'It _must_ have been good… look at the time, and you've only just gotten back! Was Slughorn actually being tolerable for a change? You have to tell me everything!'

'Good heavens, Augusta, calm down!' laughed Minerva, dropping down onto one of the couches. 'What on earth happened in here – did you decide to re-enact the Great War with Dungbombs? The stench really is quite awful.'

'Evading the question is not going to work tonight, sorry to say,' said Augusta, not looking sorry at all as she fell onto the other end of the couch and tucked her feet up under her. 'Although I _will_ say this much – Paul exhibited both extremes of his personality tonight. First he gave me this…' She held out her wrist so that Minerva could see the gold bracelet she was wearing. 'And then, not ten minutes after doing so, he decided that things were getting too quiet and pulled a box of Dungbombs out of nowhere, and…' Augusta sighed, trying to look disapproving and failing. 'Well, you know how boys can be.'

Minerva nodded understandingly.

'But enough about me,' said Augusta sharply, clapping her hands together. 'I want to hear about _your_ evening. How was the party?'

Minerva shrugged. 'Horrible, really. Oh, and before I forget, I apologise for the large tear in the hem of your dress.'

Augusta's eyebrows shot up. 'And how, pray tell, did _that_ happen?' she asked curiously. 'I do hope you and Jeff didn't get into any _trouble_ , did you?'

Minerva sniffed. 'Not in any sense of the term. You can thank dear Dolores, actually. I didn't do anything more than acknowledge her presence with a very inoffensive nod, and she nonetheless felt the need to give me this.' Minerva showed her bruised shin to Augusta, who was courteous enough to display sympathy for a moment before focusing her attention back on the dance.

'So you didn't like the party, and Umbridge was there, but you still stayed until…' She checked the clock on the wall. 'Two in the morning?'

'Well, no, actually,' said Minerva awkwardly. 'We left early. To avoid Slughorn and all the other Slytherins who were there,' she added in response to Augusta's questioning stare.

'And where did you go?' prompted Augusta, leaning forward and bouncing up and down a bit.

Minerva shrugged. 'Just walked about the grounds for a bit. The moon's nearly full, so it was fairly light, and everything looks so lovely when it's covered in snow.'

'Yes, but did anything _happen_?' asked Augusta mischievously. 'And before you even begin to look at me reproachfully, Minerva, I mean that in a completely innocent way.'

'No,' said Minerva curtly, not sure why exactly she was lying.

There had been one short moment, when she and Jeff had been standing by the edge of the lake, watching the icy moonlight glint off its flinty surface. They had been standing side by side in amiable silence for quite some time, simply appreciating the beauty of a still winter's night, when Minerva suddenly realised that she had unconsciously reached for and taken Jeff's hand. The odd thing was that he seemed just as unaware as she had been, until she had moved her head ever so slightly to look at their intertwined hands as she wondered why. When he too turned his head, they had found themselves again almost nose-to-nose, staring directly into each other's eyes without even an embarrassed smile for defence.

Inexplicably, Minerva knew that Jeff had felt exactly what she was feeling at that moment… a relentless desire to move two inches forward and let their lips touch, but at the same time an acute fear of what such a move could mean for their friendship. An instant that lasted for eternity passed while they stood frozen, perilously close to each other… and then fear won over desire, and they both turned away, cheeks reddening despite the chilly tang in the winter air, their hands slipping apart hastily.

Minerva knew that Augusta would probably understand perfectly well what she had felt, and wouldn't even react much besides a triumphant smile… yet for some reason it was a memory she wanted to guard jealously for the time being.

'No,' repeated Augusta, sighing in disappointment. 'Well, I hope you at least had a nice time together… I mean, as he's your best friend, of course you would, but I mean as dates.'

'I suppose so,' said Minerva as nonchalantly as she could. 'He said I looked really nice when we first met up.'

Augusta looked as though she was trying very hard not to roll her eyes.

'Well, it's a start,' she said.


	10. The Auror Dawning

Minerva's private lessons with Dumbledore resumed a few weeks after the Christmas holidays, much to Minerva's relief. She had been working on her Patronus on her own as hard as possible, and was now able to produce a fully corporeal Patronus at will. After greeting Dumbledore her first evening back in the Transfiguration professor's office, she proudly drew her wand from her robes and, with a confident ' _Expecto Patronum_!' sent a glowing silver owl spiralling out of the tip of her wand. Dumbledore beamed with pride as the owl fluttered noiselessly over his desk and landed neatly on his shoulder.

'Excellent work, Minerva,' he said in a most pleased voice as Minerva waved her wand and the owl Patronus dissolved into silver mist. 'I can tell you have indeed been working on this during your time off, and I think we are probably ready to move on.'

'So, what are we doing next?' asked Minerva eagerly, lowering herself into the chair across from Dumbledore. 'The actual transformation?'

'Not quite yet, I'm afraid to say,' said Dumbledore apologetically. 'As you know, we started with the Patronus because it gives you a good idea of the animal form you will most likely take upon transforming; it is the animal form that provides your psyche comfort against external harm, and therefore…'

'It will be the form that you yourself will be most comfortable transforming into,' finished Minerva.

'Precisely,' said Dumbledore. 'In addition, working at your Patronus has given you a good chance to experiment with controlling the, forgive me, animal-like part of your mind. However, before attempting an actual transformation, more work must be done in this area. The greatest mistake of most aspiring Animagi is underestimating the power of animal instinct – many attempt a transformation too soon, and are unable to control themselves within their animal form.'

'So, how do I work up… mental resistance, or whatever it would be called?' asked Minerva. For some reason, she could imagine Augusta taking full advantage of the situation Dumbledore had just explained by making an owl-Minerva deliver all of her letters to Paul before helping her to transform back, and the idea was not one she was terribly keen on.

'Ah, now here we have a choice,' said Dumbledore. 'And I will be quite honest with you, Minerva – there are potential dangers involved with either, and although I will do my utmost to try to avoid any of said dangers, I will understand completely if you would prefer to stop here and wait a few more years…'

'That's all right,' said Minerva quickly. 'What are the options?'

'The first is the more problematic legally, for it involves the use of an Unforgivable Curse,' said Dumbledore frankly. 'One of the most effective ways to build mental endurance and the ability to control the body using the mind is by building resistance to the effects of the Imperius Curse. The potential danger: an unreliable trainer who would force you into doing illegal or painful things while under the influence of the curse. I will swear to you here and now, Minerva, that should you choose this option, I would never force you to do anything illegal, harmful, or potentially embarrassing in any way.'

'Er, thanks,' said Minerva. No matter how much she trusted her professor, she did not entirely like the sound of this option, and did not even want to imagine how her father would react to the idea of her dabbling in the Unforgivable Curses for whatever reason. 'And the other?'

'The other is practicing Occlumency, or the ability to block invasions of the mind,' said Dumbledore. 'This option, although legal, is in a way the more dangerous of the two. I would, of course, allow you to use my Pensieve to remove any thoughts you would not want me to accidentally see, but the fact remains that you might neglect to remove some small, forgotten moments that you would prefer to keep private, and I imagine that viewing any of said moments could be unspeakably embarrassing for both of us.'

Minerva bit her lip, sorry that this second option was just as unappealing as the first. She considered for a moment giving up the whole Animagus procedure, but the lure of being able to soar above the tips of the Forbidden Forest, silent as a shadow, proved to be too strong.

'I suppose I'll go with the first option,' she said finally.

'Very well,' said Dumbledore, nodding. 'Then let us begin. If you could stand in the center of my office…'

Unsure of what to do, Minerva stood up and walked to the centre of the office.

'I'm afraid I must ask you to put down your wand, Minerva,' Dumbledore added. 'I've heard about several nasty incidents in which the person on whom the curse is being cast has upon instinct and completely unintentionally hexed the person casting the curse, and I don't particularly want to spend the night in the Hospital Wing.'

'You mean people do this for fun?' asked Minerva incredulously, setting her wand down upon Dumbledore's desk and stepping back nervously.

'Not exactly for fun,' said Dumbledore, smiling. 'It's actually an integral part of the Auror training programme… though from what my friend Alastor tells me, they've been cutting essential steps left and right, trying to speed up the process. But that's neither here nor there. Are you ready? One, two, three… _Imperio_.'

Minerva tensed as the spell hit her, and then felt a most wonderful soaring sensation. Out of the depths of her mind, she heard Dumbledore's voice say, 'Now, then, Minerva, if you would walk around my office once…'

Smiling serenely, Minerva complied. The second the curse was lifted, she pounded her forehead with her fists.

'I messed it up completely, didn't I?' she groaned, sinking back into the chair.

'Please don't be discouraged, Minerva,' said Dumbledore gently. 'It takes weeks for even the most advanced Aurors to build up resistance to the Imperius Curse. You expect far too much of yourself in thinking that you should have been able to resist it on your very first try.' He paused. 'Are you too discouraged to keep going?'

'No,' said Minerva fiercely, jumping to her feet and marching to the centre of the office again.

Dumbledore shook his head, amused. 'Very well, then…'

Half an hour later, Minerva had been forced to hop on one foot for a solid minute, perform a number of complicated salsa steps she had never even seen before, and even sketch a remarkably lifelike portrait of Dumbledore on the back of an important-looking document from the Ministry of Magic.

'You're doing very well,' said Dumbledore encouragingly as Minerva flung herself into the chair, berating herself again for having made no progress. 'And I'd say "there's no need to get frustrated," except for the fact that it appears you already are.'

'I know,' grumbled Minerva, catching a bar of Honeydukes chocolate that Dumbledore had just pulled from his desk drawer. 'I don't know if I can keep this up much longer.'

'Then we shall stop for the evening,' said Dumbledore decisively. 'Go ahead and take a moment to calm yourself down. You're doing fine, Minerva. Stop being so dreadfully hard on yourself.'

Minerva bit a piece off the chocolate bar and let it dissolve on her tongue as she watched Dumbledore sort a stack of papers and stash them in his desk.

'Professor, why are they cutting Auror training programmes?' she asked.

Dumbledore sighed. 'The Ministry knows that a war is approaching, and they think it is their duty to have as many trained Aurors as possible on hand, ready to respond to emergencies.' He smiled humourlessly. 'Unfortunately, they neglect to see that if their Aurors are not trained properly, then they won't be much use in case of an emergency anyway.'

'That's silly,' snorted Minerva. 'You should tell them as much.'

'Believe me, I have,' said Dumbledore wearily. 'But some people prefer to take the easy way out of things, even if it will come back to hurt them later on. Well, if nothing else comes of this whole Animagus procedure, you will have some excellent background training for a career as an Auror, Minerva, should you so choose that profession.'

Minerva bit another corner off of her chocolate and considered this idea. She had never really thought about what career she wanted before, and an Auror didn't sound half bad.

'Would an Auror be allowed to go overseas to fight in the war?' she asked, not really expecting an answer.

Dumbledore looked at her seriously, the light dimming in his usually twinkling blue eyes. 'I assume you are referring to Czechoslovakia?'

Minerva nodded. 'You've heard?'

'Of course,' said Dumbledore solemnly. 'Many of the teachers at this school do not find it interesting to keep up with the Muggle news, yet I find it to be an invaluable source of information at times, especially when current events affect our students so directly.' He paused. 'How is he, by the way?'

'Jeff?' Minerva shrugged. 'He was furious when they let Hitler take the Sudetenland. But I don't know if he ever really believed that they would let him take all of Czechoslovakia, too. I think he's really in shock right now.'

'Is his family all right?'

'So far as we know,' sighed Minerva. 'His uncle says that things are changing already, and he's not sure if they'll be allowed to leave for the United States any more. They were going to leave at the end of this month, after the doctors said that his grandmother was well enough to travel, but it looks as though the Nazis are already beginning to restrict all sorts of basic rights.'

Dumbledore shook his head slowly, his eyes distant and filled with sorrow. For a moment, he looked far older than he often acted – perhaps it was in the way he stood, slightly bent with sadness and what might have been guilt. For the first time, Minerva noticed the fine wrinkles on his face and the few streaks of grey in his auburn hair.

'Well, I have already said what I could to the Ministry,' he said finally, more to himself than to Minerva. 'I left it to them to decide whether or not to declare war openly on the fascist governments, or to wait for the war to come to Britian, obliterating all nations in between as it advances. Apparently they have made their choice.' He shook himself, and in an instant seemed to transform back into the optimistic Transfiguration professor Minerva knew. 'I'm sorry, Minerva, please don't let the ramblings of an old man trouble you. More chocolate before you go off to bed?'

'No, thank you,' said Minerva, wrapping her only partially-eaten bar in its foil and tucking it into her robes.

'Probably a wise idea,' agreed Dumbledore. 'As cheering as chocolate may be, Madam Malus would have my head if you got any cavities, perish the thought.'

Minerva smiled and yawned, realising quite suddenly how tired she was.

'Professor, can I ask you one thing more?' she said as she got up to leave. 'Are you an Animagus?'

'I am not,' said Dumbledore. 'But I intended on becoming one for quite some time when I was your age, and did all of the necessary theoretical research.'

'What happened?' asked Minerva interestedly, before she realised that the question might be a bit personal.

Dumbledore sighed, again allowing that somewhat distressing look of vulnerability to envelope him for a moment. 'An unfortunate accident, which left me both much busier than I had anticipated, and also deprived me of the partner I had been intending to train with. Afterwards, I wanted to more or less forget that I had ever even considered such a thing.'

'Oh,' said Minerva with her hand on the door handle, knowing it was best not to press the matter. 'Well, thank you for training me anyway.'

'You're very welcome,' said Dumbledore genuinely. 'Good night, Minerva.'

* * *

Pomona entered the Library one evening in mid-April and dropped into a chair at the table where Minerva was working on Arithmancy and Paul and Augusta were carrying on some whispered conversation in a most flirtatious manner.

'Well, careers advice schedules are posted,' she sighed, dumping a pile of multi-coloured brochures onto the table. 'Any idea of what you want to do?'

'No,' said Augusta automatically, running her fingers absent-mindedly through Paul's hair. 'It's a bit early to be thinking about that, don't you think?'

'Well, all right, yes,' admitted Pomona, 'but you know by now at least what subjects you're best at, that's something to go off of.'

'I'll do anything that doesn't involve Charms,' said Augusta, snorting. 'Magical Law Enforcement, or something.'

'Magical Law Enforcement involves loads of Charms work,' said Minerva, not looking up from her parchment. 'Ask my dad.'

'Well, teaching or something, then.'

'But you'd probably need to know Charms for that, too,' said Pomona seriously. 'I imagine you'd be required to be at least proficient in everything. I mean, what if the castle got attacked or something? You'd need to know how to defend yourself and the students and such, and Charms could definitely come in handy then.'

'Like anyone would ever really be able to attack Hogwarts,' sniffed Augusta. 'And anyway, Charms is a soft option. I don't see why anyone should be forced to take it.' And with that, she grabbed her bag and marched away, nose in the air.

Paul glanced guiltily at Minerva. 'You blame me, don't you?'

'What?' said Minerva, looking up at him.

'For Augusta's horrible Charms mark,' he said. 'Look, I'm sorry, but I've told her myself that she really should be focusing on her schoolwork over me, but…'

'I don't blame you at all,' said Minerva, a bit more roughly than she had intended. 'Augusta makes very strange priorities for herself, and if she fails Charms, it's her own doing.'

'Oh.' Paul looked relieved. 'Well, I'm glad you're not angry with me, at any rate.' He shot a glance in the direction Augusta had departed in. 'I should probably go make sure she's all right, excuse me…'

'So you don't blame Paul for Augusta's, er, lack of diligence?' asked Pomona after Paul had left.

'Absolutely not,' said Minerva. 'I'm sure it's quite possible to maintain a relationship without ruining your scholastic record.'

'Then why…' Pomona caught herself mid-question when Minerva shot her a challenging glare. 'Oh, never mind.' She sighed. 'What are you thinking about in terms of a career, anyway? I heard Jeff talking to your mum about Healing over the summer, so I'm guessing that that's what he wants to go into.'

'No idea,' said Minerva truthfully. 'You?'

'Well, I'm only really good in Herbology, so I suppose I'll look into something centred around that, but you're good at so many things that I imagine you could do anything you wanted to, really… well, except Herbology, perhaps.'

Minerva took this accurate assessment with good grace. 'I guess I'd like to go into something with a lot of Transfiguration and Defence Against the Dark Arts, since those are probably my two strongest subjects.'

'You should be an Auror,' said Pomona, looking as though the thought should have occurred to her beforehand. 'I can imagine you doing that kind of work, you'd probably be excellent at it.'

'Maybe,' said Minerva, although she had been seriously considering the idea ever since her lessons with Dumbledore had resumed. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard her father's voice… _Can't you see that the world isn't as safe of a place as it once was?_

* * *

Minerva's careers advice was scheduled in the middle of a sunny Tuesday afternoon in May. She had thought that she would be more than glad to get out of her Potions class at exactly that time, but found that she was going to be missing the one day that might actually have been interesting.

'Today we're going to have a little contest,' boomed Slughorn cheerfully. 'I've been brewing up a few unusual potions back here in these covered cauldrons to give you a sense of what you should be able to if you pass your Potions OWL and decide to move on to NEWT level Potions next year. And today you're going to be competing to win a little bit of a very special potion, which is… let's see, no, that's Polyjuice Potion… Draught of Living Death… Veritiserum, no… aha. Here we are…' He opened the lid of one cauldron, which was filled with a rich gold potion.

'Felix Felicis!' he proclaimed dramatically. 'A potion that brings you instant luck!'

'Sure could use that,' muttered Minerva to Augusta, who nodded fervently. She was thinking about the match versus Ravenclaw that would occur in two weeks time, and she was almost certain that Augusta was thinking ahead to her Charms exam at the end of the year.

'Now, I must warn you all that Felix is not to be used for the purposes of winning any sort of competition,' said Slughorn seriously. 'And that includes all tests, examinations, duels, and Quidditch matches.' He winked at Abraxas Malfoy, who had opened his mouth to protest. 'However, I can assure you from personal experience that any luck unrelated to the aforementioned can still yield a most enjoyable outcome.'

Minerva had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing at Augusta, who was giving Slughorn a look that said quite clearly that she had no desire to know exactly what sort of outcome he was talking about. Fortunately, Slughorn merely allowed himself a far-off look of contentment before sighing melodramatically and clapping his hands.

'Well, there you have it. After discussing briefly the effects of these other potions I have here, we will be brewing a few of the potions you will more than likely encounter on your OWL exam, and whoever can brew the largest number of potions with the most satisfactory results will win a bottle of Felix! But, first things first, who here can tell me exactly what Polyjuice Potion is and how it is used…?'

Minerva felt sorry for herself during the entire time it took her to travel from the dungeons to Dumbledore's office. Despite the usage restrictions, who wouldn't want the chance to win a little bit of instant luck?

'Ah, Minerva,' said Dumbledore as she closed the door behind her. A number of brochures were scattered about the surface of the Transfiguration professor's desk; with a wave of his wand, they flew into a neat stack. Minerva nodded in greeting as she took a seat opposite, picking up a few errant brochures and placing them carefully on top of the pile.

'Well, I suppose you already know what this little meeting is all about,' said Dumbledore pleasantly, folding his hands. 'If you have any idea at all as to what you want to do with yourself after leaving Hogwarts…'

'Er, well, you did give me an idea once, Professor,' said Minerva, a touch embarrassed. Dumbledore waited politely for Minerva to continue. 'You mentioned something about becoming an Auror, and I… well, I thought about it a bit, and…' She shrugged.

'And I must say, I think it's a profession very well-suited to you temperament,' Dumbledore finished for her. 'Being an Auror requires the ability to handle difficult magic extremely well, as well as a strong sense of justice, a willingness to help others, and a considerable degree of courage, all of which I believe you have.'

'Er, thank you,' said Minerva, blushing slightly.

'I would not say it if it was not true,' said Dumbledore reasonably. 'But I do feel I should give you a fair warning. As you may have noticed, becoming an Auror at this time would mean you will almost certainly see a fair amount of fighting. While it will also mean you will be better prepared for danger than most, it also means that you may see many horrible things that most people are able to go through life without having seen. It's a dangerous line of work, not for the faint of heart, and I would not want you to go into it without being fully aware of that.'

After a long moment, Minerva shrugged. 'Well, the Sorting Hat did put me in Gryffindor,' she said.

'That it did,' agreed Dumbledore, 'and I fully believe that you have the skill and courage to make a fine Auror. Besides, if you don't like it, you could always become a teacher.'

Minerva nodded politely, wondering why anyone would ever want to do that – she respected all of her professors, and admired their ability to teach, but the thought of having to put up with children, especially ones like the Slytherins, was enough to make her quite set against the profession.

A knock on the door announced the arrival of the next student.

'I think that means it's time for you to get back to class, Minerva,' said Dumbledore unnecessarily. 'Good luck on whatever decision you make, and remember, it's never too late to change your mind.'

'Thank you, Professor,' said Minerva, and she slipped out the door, wondering if she had already missed all of Potions.

'Well, guess who won the contest?' said Augusta sourly when Minerva found her in the Great Hall. 'Abraxas Malfoy. Probably because he's one of Slughorn's little Slug Club pets…'

'Malfoy actually isn't all that bad in Potions,' Minerva pointed out, though she too was less than thrilled with the idea.

'Yes, well, now he'll be able to wreck all sort of havoc on our House,' said Augusta gloomily. 'Ah, well, at least it won't be in Quidditch… and the effects will only last a few hours, I don't think he can completely ruin our chances of winning the House Cup in that amount of time…'

'Oh, stop worrying about it, will you?' Minerva rolled her eyes. 'The world isn't going to come to an end if Slytherin wins the House Cup… I mean, we've won it the last how many years?'

'Well, I suppose not,' said Augusta after a long moment of reflection. 'Still, it would have been better if you had stayed… you could have won us some luck, then, there's no way you wouldn't have. Ah, well, let's just hope that Jeff wins whatever Felix Slughorn offers _his_ class, so he can counteract anything the Slytherins try…'

* * *

Minerva forgot all about Felix Felicis over the next two weeks, as everyone's attention was suddenly on the upcoming match between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. Although she and Jeff kept up the usual stream of friendly banter that always passed between them before each Quidditch math, Minerva could tell that he was as nervous as she was – though both had played for the Quidditch Cup before, they were both now captains of their respective teams, and Minerva was sure that Jeff was feeling just as responsible as she for the outcome of the match.

Minerva awoke on the Saturday morning of the match with butterflies in her stomach. The sun was still low over the tips of the forest, but, try as she might, Minerva could not will herself to fall asleep again. With a sigh, she rolled out of bed, pulled on her robes, pushed her glasses onto her nose, and left the dormitory as quietly as possible.

Spring had erupted across the Hogwarts grounds. Flowers fluttered in the faint breeze that wove gently through the branches of the trees, and the lake reflected a brilliantly blue sky with barely a wisp of cloud. Minerva sat down in the long grass by the edge of the lake and leaned her back against the white trunk of a birch tree. Her eyes followed the progress of the giant squid as it propelled itself lethargically across the lake, just under the surface, but she allowed her mind to wander in all directions, not allowing it to focus on one thought long enough to start worrying again about the match.

A sudden sneeze made Minerva jolt back to reality – she sniffed unhappily and realised that the grass probably was not helping her allergies any. She quickly rose to her feet, and crashed into Jeff as she took a step around the birch tree.

'Ouch,' said Jeff, frowning as he rubbed his head where it had hit Minerva's.

'Jeff!' gasped Minerva, also pressing a hand to her forehead. 'What are you doing here?'

Jeff shrugged. 'Couldn't sleep, so I went wandering about. Same?'

'Yes.' Minerva glanced backwards to where she had been sitting, and realised that she had unconsciously chosen the same spot where she and Jeff had stood watching the lake after Slughorn's Christmas party.

'Ready for the match?' Jeff asked after a moment.

Minerva knew that Jeff knew that she was no more prepared than he, but she smiled confidently.

'Of course.'

'Yeah.' Jeff leaned back against the tree and looked out over the mirror-like lake. 'No hard feelings, no matter who wins, right?'

'You make it sound as though you expect to,' said Minerva, half-jokingly.

'As fond as I am of Gryffindors, I can't deny that I fully intend to,' said Jeff honestly. 'Besides, you've won the Quidditch Cup the last three years in a row. Time to change things up a bit, don't you think?'

'If you're trying to convince me to lose, it won't work.'

'I know _that_ ,' snorted Jeff. 'Not that I was trying to in the first place, but how long have I known you now? I'd imagine it would be nearly impossible to convince you to not try to win. You're far too proud.'

'Thank you,' said Minerva huffily.

Jeff waved his hand in the air. 'And I didn't mean that in a bad way, of course. I mean, come on, Minerva, you're one of my best friends. It's one of the things I like about you.'

Minerva did not reply, but sighed slightly and also looked out across the lake. From this angle, she could see the entire castle, and she wondered vaguely if Augusta had woken up by now and worked herself into a frenzy over the fact that Minerva was nowhere to be found.

'I should probably go back,' she said finally. 'Forgot to leave a note for Augusta.'

'Yeah,' said Jeff, smirking slightly. 'I can see why that would be a problem.' He held out his hand. 'Well, good luck today, Minerva. I assure you, you'll need it.' He winked.

Minerva raised an eyebrow and shook Jeff's hand a bit more firmly than was perhaps necessary. As she walked away, she could not help but wonder why Jeff too had wandered towards that exact spot by the lake.

* * *

'All right,' Minerva said to her team an hour later as they sat in the changing room. 'We know that Ravenclaw can fly very well, so we're going to have to rely on good defence and a quick capture of the Snitch. From the other two games they've played this season, it seems that Fawcett tends to feint towards the left hoop and then score through the centre, so Judith, I don't want you to leave that centre hoop, no matter which direction she heads.'

'Right.'

'All right, Ravenclaw knows that we need to get the Snitch quickly, so Ariadne, watch out for Bludgers, the Beaters will be trying to knock you off your broom. Jason, I'm counting on you to watch out for her.'

'Righto,' said Jason cheerfully. 'Send the Bludgers back towards Macfarlane, eh?'

'Precisely,' said Minerva. 'Merlin knows we'll have a definite advantage if their Seeker is knocked off his broom. Matthew, I want you to mostly to keep an eye on the rest of the team, but give Jason a hand if he needs it.'

'Has Cunningham mentioned anything about what his Chasers would be doing?' Judith asked hesitantly.

Minerva snorted. 'We don't really discuss Quidditch tactics, in all honesty, but from what I've seen…'

'Then how can you be so sure that he's going to be trying to knock Ariadne off her broom?' said Matthew, scratching his head.

'Because I've played with him a lot, and I know how he thinks strategically by now' said Minerva impatiently. 'Now, Judith, I'm guessing that at least one of the Chasers will always be hanging around the centre of the pitch in case they get the Quaffle and can pass it back quickly… Jason, if you don't stop sniggering and start paying attention right now, I'm going to hex you. What in Merlin's name is so funny?'

'Sorry,' said Jason insincerely, with a smirk. 'I know you're just friends, but the way you put that, "I've played with him a lot"…'

'Will you stop thinking like a bloody first year and concentrate?' snapped Minerva, aware of the fact that her nerves were making her much more irritable than usual. 'We _have_ to win this match! We've all worked so hard all year long, and I'm counting on you all to play your hardest. We've worked too hard – we _can't_ lose today after all the sweat and blood and tears at every practice and every match we've been through together. And if we lose because _some_ people on our team…' (Here she shot a wrathful look at Jason) '… can't maintain their concentration for more than half a minute at a time, I assure you I will personally make sure the offenders pay the price.' She stopped and glared fiercely around at her team. 'All right, any questions? Good, let's go out there and win.'

As she stormed out of room, the team distinctly heard her mutter the word, 'Boys,' in a tone of great exasperation.

Despite Minerva's impassioned speech in the changing room, the match ended only twenty-five minutes later with the Snitch struggling feebly in Toby Macfarlane's hand. Deafening cheers echoed from the blue-clad side of the pitch, and the Ravenclaw Quidditch team landed roughly on the ground one after the other, shouting themselves hoarse as they accepted the Quidditch Cup from Professor Dippet.

Minerva sprang off her broom, wishing very much that she could retreat to the changing room and burst into tears where no one could see her. She had so wanted to win just this one Cup, to prove to herself and to her team that she had what it took to be a good captain, never mind the fact she was the first girl to have ever held that position on a Hogwarts team. _Now_ what was everyone going to think? Would they all assume that girls couldn't handle the responsibility of being a captain?

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Professor Dumbledore serenely shaking the hand of Professor Merrythought, the latter of whom seemed to be suppressing a rather smug grin in light of her colleague's sportsmanship.

'I'm sorry,' she said dully to Matthew as he landed behind her.

Matthew shook his head. 'It wasn't your fault, Minerva, honestly, it was…'

'I should have told both of you to watch the Seekers,' Minerva interrupted. 'If that last Bludger hadn't cut Ariadne off, she could have gotten the Snitch… Jason was too far away to deflect it…'

'I could have gotten it in time,' said Jason gloomily. He kicked the grass on the pitch in frustration. 'Merlin, what was wrong with me today? Couldn't hit the Bludgers to save my life, it seemed…'

'They just had a better game, Minerva,' said Matthew. 'Any other day, we could have won, and there's always next year.'

'Hey, Minerva!' Jeff was striding across the Quidditch pitch, beaming. He cleared his throat awkwardly as he approached the three Gryffindor players, fully aware of the fact that Matthew and Jason were both glaring at him in a most hostile way. 'I just wanted to tell you that you did a great job – all of you. I mean, those last two goals you had, Minerva, those were…'

'Thank you, Jeff,' said Minerva flatly, making it quite clear she really did not want to talk to him, not so soon after the match.

Jeff frowned. 'Could you excuse us for just a moment?' he asked the two Gryffindor Beaters, who glanced at each other and left.

'Jeff!' called a petite, blonde Ravenclaw girl whose name Minerva could not remember. 'Come on, party in the common room!'

'Be there in a moment,' Jeff called back. He turned back to Minerva. 'All right, Minerva, I know you're upset about losing – I've been there, too – but you've won so many times in the past, can't you just be happy for me this once?'

'I _am_ happy for you,' Minerva insisted through gritted teeth. 'But, like you said, you know how it feels to lose, too. Couldn't you have given me a few moments to get over the disappointment before talking to me?'

'I was just trying to be friendly,' said Jeff in exasperation. 'No need to get so snappish with me. Look, really, it could have gone your way too. Our teams are evenly matched – we just had better luck today, that's all.'

Minerva scoffed. 'Better luck, is it? Why, did you distribute the bottle of Felix Felicis you won in Slughorn's class to all of your teammates?'

Jeff's mouth tightened angrily. 'So now I'm a cheater, am I? Fine then, Minerva, I'll leave you alone to commiserate with your fellow Gryffindors until you can all learn to be better sports.' And with that he turned on his heel and ran to catch up with the rest of the Ravenclaw team.

'Come on, Minerva,' she heard Augusta say behind her. Exhaling angrily, she turned and began to march back across the pitch, Augusta and Paul following in her wake.

'I do hope you're not blaming yourself, Minerva,' Augusta scolded her. ' _You_ had a fantastic game… how many goals did you have, seven, eight? And those last two, the one where you were nearly falling off your broom and managed to toss it in as you flipped around, that was…'

' _Hem, hem_.'

Minerva whipped around, her eyes flashing. 'What do you want?' she snarled venomously.

'A few words, if you don't mind,' said Dolores Jane Umbridge sweetly. 'And, Minerva dear, I simply won't take no for an answer.' She smiled challengingly.

'Fine, then,' snapped Minerva. 'I'll catch up with you two after I deal with her,' she added in an angry undertone to Augusta and Paul.

'Shall we?' said Umbridge, gesturing towards the castle. Minerva nodded tersely, her lips tight together. She wasn't quite sure why she was agreeing to listen to whatever Umbridge had to say, but she couldn't deny that she was secretly hoping that Umbridge would say something that would allow her to lose her temper completely.

'What do you want?' she repeated as they crossed the sloping lawns.

'Well, first of all, to congratulate you on your spectacular loss to Ravenclaw,' said Umbridge, smirking. 'How does it feel to be only second-best for once?'

'Not too bad,' retorted Minerva, surprisingly glad to be insulted. 'I mean, it's got to be better than getting nothing at all, hasn't it, Dolores?'

Umbridge flushed pink. 'You seem to be forgetting how quickly a person's fortune can change,' she hissed. 'Surprising, considering the circumstances.'

'There will always be next year,' Minerva reminded her.

'And what about your friend, Jeffrey Cunningham?' asked Umbridge, her eyes narrowed.

'What about him?' said Minerva coolly. 'This was just his team's year, that's all.'

'I more meant socially,' said Umbridge bluntly. 'Pity your relationship seems to jump between extremes.'

'I have no idea what you're talking about,' replied Minerva haughtily.

'Oh, I think you do,' said Umbridge softly. 'And how does it feel, now that he's no longer fawning over you, now that he's back with his own kind?'

'With the Ravenclaws?' Minerva snorted. 'I'm sure he's having a much better time celebrating with them than he would with me and Augusta.'

'Not just the _Ravenclaws_ ,' sniffed Umbridge. 'The other Mudbloods, of course. Like that one fourth-year girl, what's her name? Oh, yes, Poppy Pomfrey. He seems to be quite attached to her.'

Minerva opened her mouth to retort, and shut it again quickly as she remembered that that was the name of the girl who had reminded Jeff of the party after the match.

'Haven't got much to say now, have you?' laughed Umbridge softly. 'It was foolish of you to think that he would ever want a girl like you for long. Too brainy, too proud, and I've forgotten something else… your plain looks, and those hideous glasses, perhaps…'

'I'm glad to say that I think I understand Jeff better than you could ever hope to,' said Minerva, her calm demeanour betrayed by the fact she was shaking with rage. 'You might as well give up now, Umbridge. Whatever you say to me right now, it won't change my friendship with Jeff, and it certainly won't get _you_ into his good graces, not if you keep insulting him the way you do. And I'll say this much: I may not be as pretty as Poppy Pomfrey, but at least I don't look like a toad, which is more than _some_ people can say.'

Umbridge's face had gone white, and was now slowly turning an impressive shade of fuchsia.

'I beg your pardon?' she hissed, her hand tightening around her wand.

'I think you heard what I said perfectly well,' said Minerva. 'This conversation is over.'

She turned to leave… and threw herself to the ground as she heard Umbridge whisper ' _Crucio!_ ' behind her. The curse whistled loudly as it spiralled just over Minerva's head. Pointing her own wand behind her, Minerva closed her eyes and shouted, ' _Petrificus Totalus!_ ' hoping desperately that she would somehow hit Umbridge before the irate Slytherin could get a better shot…

A loud thud behind her made Minerva exhale with relief. She slowly rose to her feet, shaking, and looked down at the body of Dolores Jane Umbridge.

'How _dare_ you,' Minerva breathed, considering hitting Umbridge with every hex she knew for good measure. 'Using an Unforgivable Curse against me… that's illegal, Umbridge, you could be sent to Azkaban for much less…'

Umbridge could do nothing more than glare at Minerva with a look of intense loathing that made it quite clear she did not care a jot about what the Ministry thought.

'I should really report you to Professor Dippet,' said Minerva, savouring her moment of triumph. 'Fortunately for you, however, I'm in a much better mood now than I was. So I'll just leave you up here…'

Minerva waved her wand and, with a neat Levitation spell, hung Umbridge in the uppermost branches of a tall pine tree nearby.

'Don't worry, the spell ought to wear off in a few hours,' said Minerva cheerfully. 'And, for good measure, if you even try to tell any of the professors about being left out here, I can assure you that you will break into the most horrific case of the Bat-Bogey Hex this school has ever seen. I suggest you just take whatever detention is given you for being out after hours quietly.'

And, smiling smugly, Minerva marched back up towards the castle, feeling remarkably good for just having lost a Quidditch match.

* * *

The only thing that needed to be done now (besides passing her OWLs without suffering a nervous breakdown) was apologise to Jeff, preferably somewhere in private.

'You could always see if he's in Dumbledore's classroom this evening,' advised Augusta as they packed up from Potions the Tuesday after the match. 'Although I really don't think he'd make a big scene over it if you just wanted to pull him aside during dinner…'

'Well, we have Astronomy tonight anyway,' said Minerva gloomily. 'I suppose it'll be as good a time as any.'

And so, Minerva took the longer route to the Astronomy Tower that night, ducking behind dusty tapestries and ignoring shouting portraits as she made her way down to the Transfiguration classroom. As she rounded the corner, however, she found her way blocked by Peeves the poltergeist.

'Would you mind?' she said irritably, batting in frustration at the poltergeist, who bobbed just out of her reach and blew a loud raspberry.

'Wouldn't disturb young Mozart in there, if I were you,' cackled Peeves, wiggling his curly toes. 'He's rather busy at the moment.'

'I don't hear anything,' Minerva snapped, ducking around Peeves, who turned a somersault in midair and zoomed away. Shaking her head, Minerva pushed open the door – and froze.

Jeff was seated on one of the desks, and Poppy Pomfrey was wrapped around his neck, kissing him rather noisily. Minerva put out a hand to catch herself against the doorframe as she felt her knees buckle beneath her. It was as if the ground was sliding out from under her feet – she all of the sudden had no sense of balance, of direction. Upon feeling her eyes start to burn, Minerva quickly shut the door, but not before she had seen Poppy Pomfrey break free of Jeff's embrace long enough to flash an oddly triumphant glance at Minerva.

Outside the classroom, Minerva leaned against the wall, fighting in vain to keep tears from springing to her eyes until, at last, she allowed herself to sink to the ground, her head buried in her arms. Umbridge had been right – with competition like Poppy Pomfrey, what boy would ever choose a loud, spectacled, know-it-all girl, the teacher's pet with her hand always in the air, who chose academics over a social life without even flinching? She should have expected it. She wondered if she almost _had_ been expecting it, and just hadn't anticipated on it hurting so much.

At long last, Minerva pulled herself to her feet and wiped her eyes messily with the back of her hand, glad that crying had never made her face noticeably blotchy. The irony was not lost on her as, in spite of the pain she was feeling, she forced herself into stoic silence and quickly hurried up to Astronomy.

'You're just on time,' whispered Augusta as Minerva unobtrusively took a place at the telescope next to her. 'How did it go?'

Minerva opened her mouth, decided it would be too difficult to actually speak without bursting into tears, and opted for a solemn shake of the head instead. Augusta knew better than to press matters further, and nodded sympathetically. Minerva smiled weakly in gratitude, and attempted with all her might to focus completely on Jupiter's moons. But her misery tugged at the corner of her brain throughout the rest of the evening, and once in bed, Minerva could not escape it.

Despite the utter confusion she felt, one thing was certain: Minerva could no longer deny that Jeff Cunningham meant much, much more than a friend to her.

* * *

Minerva was almost glad when OWLs began a week later, as they forced her into a period of such intense studying that all social angst was promptly suppressed due to necessity. She threw herself fully into preparing for the exams, not allowing herself to relax or even sleep more than a few hours at a time (which Pomona scolded her for, claiming it was supposed to be very unhealthy for adolescents). Hours of free time were spent huddled in a corner of the Gryffindor common room, nose buried in books, lips soundlessly mouthing lists of spells, eyes skimming long lists of potions ingredients.

At long last, the week was over. Minerva finally allowed herself a sigh of relief as she slowly allowed her body to relax into the cushions of the chair she was curled up in, watching a loud party unfold all about the Gryffindor common room (for the rest of the House had seized upon the celebratory mood of the fifth-years, regardless of the fact that they themselves had not just survived any gruelling academic rites of passage). She knew that school would resume again on Monday, but at this moment, she felt like doing nothing more than going up to bed and burying herself in some not-so-serious reading material… She took a sip of butterbeer, letting the glorious feeling of freedom wash over her like sunlight.

Her tranquil mood was rudely interrupted when Augusta burst in through the portrait hole and flung herself melodramatically into the chair next to Minerva.

'I've failed!' she wailed. 'I know I've failed, my parents are going to be furious with me…'

'Augusta, what in Merlin's name…?' said Paul concernedly, bustling up to her.

'My Charms exam!' sobbed Augusta. 'Everything I'd gone over, _everything_ , it all just flew out of my head… I couldn't even remember the bloody spell you use to summon things…'

' _Accio_ ,' said Paul and Minerva automatically, in unison.

' _That_ was it!' shrieked Augusta, burying her face in Paul's shoulder. 'Oh, I feel like such a fool. It would have been bad enough, but guess who happened to be my examiner?' She paused a moment for effect. 'Flitwick! Filius Flitwick, the famous duelling champion who's been my brother's hero from the time he was four, and _now_ what's he going to think of our family, that we're all stupid and inept at Charms?'

'Augusta, for goodness sake, calm down,' said Minerva firmly. 'There's nothing you can do to change it now.'

'You know what?' said Paul, gently untangling himself from Augusta's grip. 'I'm going to go grab you some butterbeer and Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans. Honestly, it'll make you feel better…' With a final yank, he pulled his arm free of Augusta, who responded by curling up miserably in the chair, and walked purposefully off across the room.

'He was far too nice to me,' added Augusta sullenly. 'He let me try three times, and I still couldn't get the bloody cushion to fly across the room.' She glanced vindictively towards Minerva, who was taking another sip of butterbeer. 'And you can stop acting so superior, Minerva.'

'I beg your pardon?' asked Minerva, placing the bottle onto the side table next to her chair and cocking an eyebrow at Augusta.

' "Augusta, for goodness sake, calm down," ' Augusta mimicked. 'Like _you_ can empathise with what I'm going through, you've never failed anything in your life.'

'I was close to failing my Defence Against the Dark Arts exam,' countered Minerva. It was true; when her Boggart had turned into a werewolf, she had been quite close to fainting for a moment before she managed to pull herself together and turn it into a tiny Scottish terrier with a confident ' _Riddikulus!_ '

'Yes, but you didn't, did you?' snapped Augusta. 'And stop giving me that look, Minerva.'

'I'm not giving you any look!' Minerva retorted, fed up with Augusta's outburst.

'Oh, but of course you're not!' Augusta sneered. 'Saint Minerva, the golden girl, the model student who's always prepared for _everything_ – don't tell me you're not thinking I should have studied harder!'

'I'm not!' said Minerva, who had been thinking just that.

'Yes, you are!' shrieked Augusta. 'And you know what, Minerva? I think you're just jealous that I can actually maintain a relationship with a boy, and that's why you're pretending to be all condescending towards me, because you wish _you'd_ had better things to do than study every waking minute the week before OWLs.' She leaned forward, chin jutting out challengingly. 'You never _did_ tell me what happened between you and Jeff… was he fed up by what a perfect little know-it-all you are?'

'SHUT UP.'

The whole room fell silent and stared at Minerva, who had leapt to her feet so violently that her butterbeer had slipped off the side table and smashed into a dripping amber mess all over the floor. Minerva ignored the many eyes on her and, with a final glare towards Augusta, strode quickly to the portrait hole and let it close behind her with an echoing slam.

Pomona was sitting in the Library when Minerva got there, working on the crossword puzzle in the _Daily Prophet_.

'There you are!' she said cheerfully. 'I was wondering if you were finally going to come out of the common room, now that OWLs are over and whatnot.' She frowned at her paper. 'Seven letters, "a process for turning common metals into gold"?'

'Alchemy,' said Minerva gloomily, sliding into the opposite chair and covering her face with her hands. Pomona glanced up at her friend in concern for a moment, and then quickly pushed the paper away.

'All right, Minerva, what is it?' she asked in a low, comforting voice.

'Just got into a row with Augusta,' Minerva mumbled through her fingers. 'She was getting all aggravated over her Charms OWL, and started screaming at me for no real reason.'

'I'm sorry,' said Pomona genuinely, 'but you do know how… er… explosive Augusta can be at times. Are you sure there isn't anything _else_ going on? You've been acting oddly for weeks.'

Minerva glanced up at Pomona, and shrugged. 'Stress, I suppose.'

'You haven't been talking to Jeff, I've noticed,' continued Pomona tentatively. 'Has something happened between the two of you?'

Minerva pulled her hands away from her face and stared defiantly at Pomona. 'Nothing at all,' she said truthfully.

'Right,' sighed Pomona, realising Minerva was not going to cooperate. She pulled the newspaper back towards her and examined the crossword again, her brow furrowed in concentration as she rubbed the tip of her quill absentmindedly against her cheek. 'You'd better talk to him before the last day of term, though. He's not going to be on the Hogwarts Express, if that's when you were planning to make amends.'

'Who ever said I needed to?' grumbled Minerva before the first part of Pomona's message sank in. 'Wait, what?'

'He's staying at Hogwarts over the summer,' explained Pomona. 'He told me that Professor Dumbledore and Professor Merrythought both reckon it's too dangerous for him to travel to eastern Europe right now, he might not be able to make it back out for next term.'

'It's that bad, is it?' sighed Minerva, allowing herself to feel a pang of sympathy for Jeff before quickly remembering that she hated him.

'Yes.' Pomona filled in half of a word, realised it was wrong, scribbled it out messily. 'You _will_ talk to him before we leave, won't you?'

'Maybe.'

Pomona rolled her eyes. 'Well, you'd better. He's been trying to find you to ask what's wrong for ages.'

* * *

To Pomona's fury, Minerva continued to avoid Jeff as much as possible, retreating quickly to the Gryffindor common room whenever he appeared in the Library, pretending not to hear him call her name as they passed each other in the halls. But all hopes of evasion were dashed when Jeff approached her during dinner the night before the rest of the students were due to board the Hogwarts Express.

'Could I have a word?' he asked, tapping Minerva on the shoulder. Minerva nearly choked when she turned around, and would have attempted to ignore him even then if Augusta hadn't kicked her sharply under the table and replied, 'Of course she will, right, Minerva?'

A most disgruntled Minerva followed Jeff out into the Entrance Hall, where the dull roar of the feast was suppressed to a muted buzz. She leaned one shoulder against the wall, arms crossed defensively, mouth pressed into a thin, irate line.

'All right, Minerva, what's going on?' Jeff asked without preface, crossing his arms as well. 'You're obviously angry about _something_ I did, and I do hope you realise that I'm not going to be able to do anything to correct whatever I did wrong until you tell me what it is…'

Something inside Minerva burst, and before she could stop herself, all the pain and rage she had kept bottled up within her came fizzing violently out.

'Oh, so you don't know what you did wrong?' she hissed. 'Funny, I never thought you were that dense.'

'Well, let's pretend for a moment that I am.' Jeff frowned, waiting. 'So?'

Minerva sniffed haughtily. 'Imagine, if you will, that you're a witch and you've gone to a dance with a close friend, who at the _time_ told you that he would rather be there with you than anyone else, despite all the pretty girls in his House. Imagine that at this party you got the sense that maybe, just _maybe_ , you were more than just friends, but you tried to repress all of your feelings for the sake of maintaining a feeling of normalcy. Imagine how you would feel if, on your way to apologise for something stupid you said during one petty row, you happened to see that same friend passionately kissing another girl…'

By this time, Minerva's voice had crescendoed to an angry shout, and she paused to check herself, taking a few deep breaths.

'It was foolish of me,' she said finally, in a cool, formal voice, 'to have expected anything more than friendship. Now that I think about it, I probably brought it upon myself.'

Jeff, meanwhile was staring at her in utter confusion. 'What on earth are you talking about, Minerva?'

'You,' she said, still fighting to keep calm, 'and Poppy Pomfrey. Don't tell me you didn't know I saw you two together.'

'What?' Jeff stared at Minerva a moment longer, and then began to laugh, a laugh that exploded out of him so forcefully that it made Minerva jump.

_I should hex him right here and now_ , she thought furiously. _As if it wasn't bad enough to have to explain all this to him, now he has to add insult to injury by mocking me…_

'I'm sorry, Minerva,' said Jeff weakly, steadying himself against the wall, 'but where in the name of Merlin did you ever come up with an idea like _that_?!'

'I saw you!' said Minerva fiercely. 'In Professor Dumbledore's classroom, the day after the Quidditch match. I was on my way up to Astronomy, and…'

'That's impossible, though,' said Jeff, a perplexed look flickering across his face. 'I haven't been inside Professor Dumbledore's room for anything but classes for the last month or so, you can ask him yourself. You didn't honestly think I was going to waste time practicing the cello when I needed to be studying for exams, did you?' he added with a grin.

'Then explain to me why I saw you there,' said Minerva stubbornly. 'Unless, of course, you have an identical twin you can produce at will?'

'Of course not,' snorted Jeff. 'If I did, I'd send him to Potions to do my work, just so I could avoid Slugho-…' Jeff froze, mouth slightly ajar.

'What?' said Minerva, more curiously than rudely.

'Brilliant,' said Jeff, shaking his head. 'It makes perfect sense, Minerva… _Polyjuice Potion_. How easy would it have been for Malfoy to have stolen some from that cauldron in Slughorn's room?'

'Too easy,' said Minerva slowly, 'he was sitting right next to it. But… why?'

'Pureblood mania,' guessed Jeff. 'Doesn't like you fraternising with me, I suppose, considering you're a pureblood and all. Though Umbridge seems to be exempt from that rule, she's been more and more flirtatious lately, it's rather revolting…'

Minerva remembered the look of triumph she had thought she had seen in the fake Poppy Pomfrey's eyes. Then she realised that she hadn't even seen Jeff's cello inside the classroom that night…

'Or else, Umbridge put him up to it so that she would have a clear shot to you,' said Minerva slowly. Jeff nodded after a moment of thought.

'That certainly makes sense.'

'But how would either Umbridge or Malfoy have gotten hair or something from you and Poppy Pomfrey?' Minerva asked suspiciously.

'Not that hard, actually,' admitted Jeff. 'Both my class and Poppy's class has Herbology with the Slytherins, and Umbridge is always hanging around me. She probably pulled a piece of hair or something off my robes when I wasn't looking, and Orion probably did the same for Poppy.' He shuddered. 'Though I very much hope that Orion isn't flirting incessantly with Poppy.'

'She tried to convince me to stay away from you,' Minerva remembered. 'Umbridge, I mean. Right after the match, when I was still angry with you… I'm sorry about that, by the way,' she added.

'No offence taken,' he said quickly. 'I'm equally sorry for some of the things I said. So, what did she say?'

'Well, first she insulted me a bit, and then she hinted that you and Poppy Pomfrey were rather fond of each other.'

'Which we are,' admitted Jeff, 'but in a very platonic way, I can assure you. She's one of the only other Muggle-born Ravenclaws, so when she first arrived she sort of gravitated towards me simply because no one else was very friendly towards her. She reminds me a bit of my sister, actually.'

'Oh.' Minerva was feeling better by the minute, though she didn't want to get her hopes up too high, in case some careless bit of information brought everything crashing down like a card castle.

'Well, we already knew this, but Umbridge is obviously quite the liar,' said Jeff. 'What happened then?'

'Er, well, she tried to use the Cruciatus Curse on me,' said Minerva, trying to recall if anything else had occurred between then.

' _What_!' Jeff's jaw dropped slightly. 'You're joking.'

'Sadly, no.'

'Bitch,' he spat. The two grinned sheepishly at each other for a moment.

'I'm sorry about all this,' said Minerva finally.

'It's all right,' said Jeff. 'But I do wish you'd just come and _talked_ to me, instead of shunning me for a month or so…'

'Well, it's better than a year and a half,' Minerva reminded him.

'Oh, yeah.'

They both laughed awkwardly. Then Minerva held out her hand.

'So… friends?'

Jeff took her hand with a grin. 'Unless you want more,' he said, pulling her closer to him and gently placing his lips on hers. Minerva's eyes widened in surprise, and then closed as she leaned into Jeff, felt his arm wrap around her waist. After a moment that seemed like an eternity, she pulled away, blushing.

'Jeffrey Cunningham, _that_ was extremely bold of you,' she giggled.

'I'm sorry,' he mumbled, embarrassed.

'I never said I objected,' Minerva pointed out. And, against her better judgment, she kissed him again.

At that precise moment, Peeves whizzed down the staircase with a large bucket of ice in his hands, and skidded to a halt in midair when he saw Minerva and Jeff and grinned mischievously.

'Ooh, what's _this_ now?' he cackled. 'Getting a bit warm in here, isn't it?'

'Oh, Merlin,' muttered Minerva, turning to catch sight of Peeves just before he dumped the entire bucket of ice on top of the two students and zoomed away, sniggering.

'Calm down, Minerva,' said Jeff, grabbing her by the arm before she could follow Peeves and enact any of the dire threats she was shouting after him.

'He'd deserve it,' snarled Minerva, wrenching her arm out of Jeff's grasp and promptly slipping on a piece of ice, knocking Jeff off balance as she did so. The two crashed to the ground and slid a bit on the melting ice cubes covering the slick marble of the floor. Then, after a moment, both began to laugh.

'And you're going to have to put up with tricks like that all summer,' said Minerva, shaking her head as she carefully rose to her feet.

'I suppose so,' sighed Jeff, not too concerned. 'You will write to me, won't you? To alleviate some of the monotony…'

'Of course,' said Minerva as she wrung out the hem of her robes. There was another long pause as she stood up straight and tried to think of something to say.

'Well, I think I'll go in and have some dinner now, I'm starving,' was all she could manage.

'Same,' said Jeff, and, holding out his arm for her to take, they re-entered the Great Hall together.


	11. A Game of Strategies

'So, was it really weird?' Augusta asked Jeff on the first night back from the summer holidays.

'What?'

'Being stuck here all summer, surrounded by all the professors,' said Augusta, as though this should have been obvious. 'They didn't try to give you any work to do, did they?'

'Of course not,' Jeff snorted, 'nothing besides the work everyone got over the summer. Most of the professors left, actually. Dumbledore was around more often than anyone else, though that isn't much. Didn't really matter to me – I spent most of my time holed up in Ravenclaw Tower, hiding from Pringle.'

'How boring,' said Augusta sympathetically.

'Ah, it was all right.' Jeff shrugged. 'At least I could practice flying a bit. And Merrythought decided to teach me how to produce a Patronus, I think she felt bad that I was shut up in the common room most of the time.'

'Really?' Minerva asked. 'How did it go?'

'Not bad,' said Jeff, grinning. 'I've almost got it… you'll have to work with me later.'

'You _could_ always just wait for Merrythought to teach us in class, you'd already be ahead of the rest of us,' Augusta reminded him.

'Oh, but where's the fun in that?' said Jeff, turning to Minerva. 'Can you meet me in Dumbledore's room tomorrow evening?'

'Of course,' Minerva replied, surprised at how formal she and Jeff were being with each other.

The next evening was quite a different story, however. The second Minerva closed the door to the Transfiguration room behind her and turned around, she found herself already in Jeff's arms.

'I take it you didn't tell Augusta?' he asked as she buried her face in his shoulder and breathed in the smell of him.

'I wanted to spend at least one summer free of any questioning, not that I got to see you in any case…' Minerva sneezed violently.

'You all right?' asked Jeff, stepping back.

'Fine,' sniffed Minerva, rubbing her nose. 'Feels like my allergies are flaring up, for some reason…'

'Oh no,' sighed Jeff. 'Must have forgotten to clear the cat hair off my robes…'

'Cat hair?' groaned Minerva as Jeff whipped out his wand.

'Yeah, I got a cat when I went to Diagon Alley to get my books and such for this year,' said Jeff, muttering ' _Evanesco_ ' to clear the cat hair from his robes. 'Or, rather, he found me, he kept following me and mewing no matter where I went, so Merrythought suggested I just keep him.'

' _Merrythought_ took you to Diagon Alley?' Minerva repeated, trying and failing to imagine Jeff cavorting about Diagon Alley with the stern Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.

'Believe it or not, she's not as intimidating one-on-one as she is in front of a class,' said Jeff, grinning. 'It was a little weird, actually, she kind of started acting all maternal towards me over the summer. Not in a creepy way, but just asking if I was all right whenever she saw me and picking up interesting books for me to read and such.'

'That must have been unnerving, to say the least.'

'I guess, but I did overhear her talking to Dumbledore about her own grandchildren in France. Which was in itself a hard idea to grasp at first, but it explains some of her behaviour towards me.'

'Oh,' said Minerva, and sneezed again. 'Well, not to switch subjects abruptly, but you're going to have to help me find some spell that will minimise the effects of cat hair on my allergies, this is really giving me problems.'

'I'll just be careful to get it all off my robes when I leave the common room,' said Jeff, waving his hand impatiently. 'So, are you going to help me get this Patronus once and for all?'

'Of course,' said Minerva, sitting on top of one of the desks. 'Show me what you've got so far.'

Jeff nodded and cleared his throat somewhat nervously, raising his wand as he did so. ' _Expecto Patronum_ ,' he said in a tense voice. A jet of silver smoke burst into the darkened room, condensed into a murky blur, and slowly relaxed back into a swirl of mist.

'Damn,' muttered Jeff, annoyance flashing in his brown eyes. 'I was getting so close over the summer… _why_ won't this work?'

'Calm down, Jeff,' said Minerva patiently. 'Getting aggravated is the worst thing you can do. Just keep focusing on something happy, and don't get frustrated…'

'I'm _not_ getting frustrated,' insisted Jeff through gritted teeth as he prodded the mist violently. 'I'm trying my best to think of something happy, and it's _still_ …'

'Here,' sighed Minerva. She slid off the desk and grabbed Jeff by the shoulders. ' _Concentrate_ , will you?' And she kissed him again. Jeff's Patronus wavered for a moment, and then slowly solidified into a small tabby, which yawned widely and stretched.

'Well, that certainly seemed to work,' said Jeff, breaking away from Minerva and staring down at his cat Patronus with a most pleased expression.

'I'm glad it did,' said Minerva, grinning. 'I would have wondered how you _really_ felt about me if it hadn't.'

'Let's remove any doubt from your mind, then,' said Jeff roguishly, pulling Minerva to him and kissing her again.

At that exact moment, the door of the classroom swung open, revealing a tall silhouette. Jeff and Minerva quickly leapt back from each other.

'Good evening, Mr Cunningham,' said Professor Dumbledore as he entered the classroom, letting no reaction to what he might have just witnessed enter his voice. 'I see you've managed to produce a corporeal Patronus – very well done.'

'Er, thank you, Professor,' gasped Jeff, running his fingers through his hair with a most mortified expression on his face (Minerva would have laughed if she too had not felt the same way). 'Er, Minerva here was just helping me get the hang of it…'

'Really?' A knowing smile flickered briefly across Dumbledore's face as he scanned his bookshelves for whatever tome he needed. 'Perhaps, Minerva, you should consider a career in teaching, as you seem to have a knack for it.'

'Maybe,' muttered Minerva, too polite to protest wholeheartedly. She was quite sure she would make a dreadful teacher, especially if it meant having to put up with the Umbridges and Malfoys of the world every day… and she was equally sure that her rather unconventional method for teaching Patronuses would not work for most students.

'Well, I'm glad to hear you'll at least consider it,' said Dumbledore cheerily as he located the book he had been seeking and pulled it off the shelf in a cloud of dust. 'I apologise for having disturbed your lesson… please do excuse me.'

And with that he swept out of the room in a swirl of plum robes.

'Well, that wasn't awkward at all,' said Jeff after a moment.

'I suppose we should exercise a bit more discretion,' began Minerva.

'Oh, come on, Minerva, are you trying to say that you're _never_ going to tell Augusta that we're, well…'

'Of course I'll tell Augusta and Pomona and Paul eventually, but I just… I want to wait until I feel I'm ready to tell them.' Minerva laughed. 'You know how Augusta is about these things.'

Jeff rolled his eyes. 'You'd think we were engaged by the way you're treating this whole situation.'

'Come on,' said Minerva, ignoring Jeff's comment. 'Let's see you try that Patronus again, _without_ my help…'

* * *

Minerva arrived in the Library the next evening, expecting to find her group of friends or at the very least Pomona, but finding nothing more than the whispers of studious peers and turning pages. With a sigh, she turned on her heel, fully intending to retreat to the Gryffindor common room and start on her Charms essay alone if not even Augusta could be found… but her progress was halted by a voice behind her.

'Leaving so soon, McGonagall?'

Minerva turned to see Tom Riddle reclining in his chair, staring lazily up at her with his cold, appraising eyes. Her eyes narrowed automatically in suspicion.

'I was planning to. Why?'

Riddle shrugged. 'Nothing terribly important. I was merely wondering if you'd care to play a game of chess. If you don't have anywhere to go, that is.'

Minerva was sorely tempted to reply with a defiant 'no' and leave, but she knew that that would only make Riddle guess that she was intimidated. Instead, she walked slowly to the seat opposite him, and sat, folding her hands expectantly on the tabletop.

'I hope you don't mind,' said Riddle languidly as he pulled a board out of his bag, 'but I only have a Muggle chess set. That means no helpful hints and warnings from the pieces, I should warn you.'

'It makes no difference to me,' replied Minerva shortly, watching as Riddle pulled the rigid pieces out of his bag one by one and set them on the board.

'Good.' Riddle set his last ebony pawn in the centre of a square and glanced up at his opponent. 'White always moves first.'

Minerva moved a pawn out into the centre of the board. Riddle followed suite. The two traded turns in silence for a few minutes before Minerva finally spoke.

'All right, Riddle, what do you want?' she asked in a low but frank voice. 'I find it hard to believe this encounter is based solely around a love for a board game.'

Riddle raised his eyebrows. 'I had thought it would be obvious.'

'Oh?' Minerva met his eyes challengingly, holding a knight delicately between her fingers before placing it carefully down on the board.

'Strategy,' said Riddle simply, taking the knight with one of his bishops. 'I always find it intriguing when people refuse to follow the game as I play it, and I like to see how they choose to play.'

'So you believe everyone should play according to your plans?' Minerva snorted. 'Not much of a game in that, is there?'

'Perhaps not,' said Riddle, waiting a minute to fix Minerva with a calculating stare before he moved again. 'But it _does_ mean I always win.'

'Not too brave of you, is it?'

'Bravery?' Riddle laughed, a soft, mirthless laugh that made the hairs on the back of Minerva's neck stand on end. 'And when did bravery ever get anyone anywhere? You and I both know that power lies in cleverness and manipulation, not in heroism.'

Minerva scoffed and deftly swept one of his bishops from the chess board. The two continued in silence for a few moments, neither looking at the other, until finally Riddle spoke again.

'You know, I've come to a conclusion about something, McGonagall,' he said, reclining in his chair almost lazily, though there was something in his manner that was like a snake waiting for the right moment to rise up and strike.

'Really.'

'Yes,' said Riddle, continuing on even though Minerva had not asked him to. 'In this little world we inhabit, there are two types of people: those who recognise power, and those who are two weak to see it. I am proud to count myself as one of the former, those who follow their ambitions at all costs, not stopping to concern themselves with petty matters like friendship and attachment. People who place their faiths in the so-called "goodness" of the world only weaken themselves; compassion detracts from the ultimate goal. Power is really the only thing worth worrying about.'

Minerva glanced up, raised her eyebrows, unconvinced.

'I can see you face the same problems that I do, whether you realise it or not,' Riddle continued. 'Burdened with friends far below your intellectual level – with the exception of the Mudblood, that is – capable of so much _more_ than what this school can offer, deserving of power, of fame, of glory…'

'My friends are my friends,' snapped Minerva harshly, trying to ignore the nipping kernel of truth in Riddle's words. 'So what if perhaps some of them don't get the same marks that I do. At least _I_ don't manipulate them into doing my dirty work for me.'

'Oh?' Riddle folded his hands beneath his chin, managing to look mildly intrigued and yet terribly bored at the same time. With a jolt, Minerva realised that Riddle was actually quite handsome; he had the same kind of universal good looks that Jeff had, except that in his intense gaze there was only hatred and emptiness, none of the sparkling laughter that she loved so much about Jeff.

'Stop feigning innocence, Riddle. Don't think I don't realise that you were the one who orchestrated that little matter with the Polyjuice Potion last year.'

'Well, I won't deny having known about it, but I must say, had Abraxas and Dolores consulted me, I'm sure I would have been able to improve their plan and their timing greatly. It was my last test to see if we really would be able to break your attachment to your pathetic Mudblood friend, and if I had not left the operation in the hands of two fools, perhaps it would have succeeded.'

'I highly doubt it.' Minerva frowned as Riddle took one of her castles. 'And is that what you call all of your friends – fools?'

'For the most part, yes,' said Riddle, leaning back in his chair and rolling one of Minerva's captured pawns between his fingers lazily. 'They all are quite devoted to me, but when it comes down to it, none of them have the intelligence or the ambition that I need in my closest confidants. They really aren't anything more than pawns in this game we play.'

He watched as Minerva moved her bishop forward again, and then leaned forward across the table to nudge one of his pawns forward.

'That's why I'd hoped you would finally come to your senses,' he breathed. His face was only inches away from Minerva's – she could practically count the few delicate freckles on his nose. ' _You_ were the one I had hoped I could count on to join me. What an asset you would be: a highly intelligent, ambitious, charismatic, attractive second-in-command, from a completely pureblood line, put into a position that would allow you to do whatever you wanted, with no barriers, no one telling you to stop or go slower, finally able to exercise your potential to its fullest…'

Minerva closed her eyes. His words were soft, seductive, heavy with flattery she knew was false, and yet found so convincing… She realised suddenly that she was afraid to open her eyes, afraid to face the boy opposite her, terrified she would be forced to agree, to play into his game…

'What can this school give you?' he continued scornfully. 'A solid education, that's what they'd tell you… and then what? The Ministry, yes, but that can only take you so far, and even then you'd be confined to Britain. But I could give you the world at your feet. The two of us together, we could recreate society as we saw fit, force those who dared oppose us back into line, establish law and order and an immutable sense of _place_ for every rung of beings…'

And the spell was suddenly broken. Minerva's eyes snapped open, and her eyes were so filled with a smouldering fury that even the cold and calculating Tom Riddle blinked in surprise and pulled back.

'You and your pureblood mania,' hissed Minerva. They were speaking in barely more than whispers, yet the tension reverberating through the empty air between them was so powerful that it might as well have been audible, even visible. 'How could you ever have thought I would join you, and the rest of your bigoted followers?'

Riddle's eyes flashed, and his clenched hands shook ever so slightly as he watched Minerva carefully manoeuvre her remaining knight about the board.

'You're a fool, Minerva McGonagall,' he whispered. 'A blind fool, just like Dumbledore… both capable of wielding so much power, and yet too filled with _compassion_ to ever do so…'

'Perhaps you can only see power,' said Minerva evenly, sensing that she had already won, 'and if that's so, then I pity you. There's so much more in the world – love, friendship, loyalty, all the things you will never have if you continue to serve only yourself.'

'Pretty words,' said Riddle dismissively. 'Pity, really. I see you really won't join me.'

He moved a pawn forward onto the same square as Minerva's last knight with a jerky movement, then seemed to regain control over himself and smoothly dragged the piece off the board. Minerva watched in satisfaction, then swiftly moved her bishop forward to capture Riddle's king.

'No, I won't,' she said defiantly, grabbing her bag and rising to leave. However, as she turned to walk out of the Library, Riddle began to laugh quietly, a sound that made all the hairs on the back of Minerva's neck stand on end.

'Very well, you win this round, McGonagall,' Riddle said softly. 'Go, stay with your little Mudblood and Mudblood-loving friends. But I should warn you, they won't be there for you much longer.'

'What on earth do you mean?' Minerva asked, trying to snap irritably but not quite keeping a quaver of fear out of her voice.

'The war's started in the Muggle world, McGonagall.' Riddle kept his cold gaze fixed on her as he put the board and chess pieces back into his bag, a smirk playing about his lips. 'Hitler's invaded Poland, and Europe's slowly falling into its old alliances. When _our_ war reaches Britain, and your precious Mudblood is thrown out to join the filth he comes from, there won't be any Dumbledore out there to protect him and his family.'

Minerva opened her mouth to respond, but could find no suitable words. Shaking slightly, she could do nothing more than leave the Library as quickly as possible, feeling Riddle's eerie stare follow her until she turned the corner.

* * *

The months wore on in the usual pattern of Minerva's life at Hogwarts: classes, studying, Quidditch, her sporadic Animagus lessons whenever Professor Dumbledore was not dashing off to the Ministry for some reason or another. At first, the effects of being subjected to the Imperius Curse night after night had a definite physical toll on Minerva, and she returned back to the common room every night too exhausted to do any homework, but as the seasons rolled into winter, she found that the curse had less and less effect on her.

'Very well done,' said Dumbledore proudly one evening in early December as Minerva managed to cut herself off in the middle of a difficult Puccini aria. "I do believe you're really getting the hang of this, Minerva, and I couldn't be happier with your progress, though I must admit I was somewhat hoping you'd keep singing a bit longer, you have a lovely voice…'

'It's exhausting,' sighed Minerva, lowering herself shakily into a chair and breaking a small piece off the end of the bar of Honeydukes best chocolate Dumbledore slid across the desk to her. Already that evening, she had been forced to perform a complicated tap dance of sorts, a very acrobatic tae kwon do routine, and several Shakespearean monologues, terminating each in shorter and shorter amounts of time.

'But you're doing very well, and I would not be surprised if you reached a level of comfort that would be sufficient for you to attempt an actual transformation in the not-too-distant future,' Dumbledore assured her, his eyes twinkling. 'Nonetheless, I can see you are indeed fatigued, and therefore I call this session to an end for the evening.'

'No, Professor!' Minerva sprang to her feet in protest, the chocolate cracking into several large slabs upon falling to the floor. 'I can keep going, I'm fine…'

'I think not,' said Dumbledore pleasantly, standing to make his way around the desk and open the door for Minerva, who turned around reluctantly to leave. 'Although…'

And before Minerva knew it, she had been hit by that floating sensation again and could hear Dumbledore's voice say: _Now then, Minerva, if you would please levitate the papers on my desk…_

Minerva began to reach instinctively for her wand, and then forced herself to concentrate. "No, Professor, I don't think I will," she said, her voice sounding to her own ears as though muffled by a thick fog. In an instant, she felt herself return solidly to earth and, blinking a few times to clear her vision, saw that Dumbledore was positively beaming.

' _Excellent_ work, Minerva!' he cried.

'I thought you said we were finished for the evening?' asked Minerva, raising an eyebrow.

'And I apologize,' said Dumbledore graciously, bowing slightly. 'I had to make sure your control over the Imperius Curse was so absolute that you could overcome it even when not expecting it. Well, I'm now quite convinced that next lesson we can indeed begin to work on the transformation itself. Now you really may go, Minerva. Good night.'

Minerva practically flew out of the room, eager to dash up to the Gryffindor common room as quickly as possible and share her good news with Augusta. But the latch of the door had barely clicked shut behind her when she heard the sound of laughter echoing softly from the nearest shadow.

'Out late tonight McGonagall, aren't you?'

'And what do you care about it, Malfoy?' Minerva asked, still feeling jubilant. She turned on her heel to face the pale Slytherin as he emerged into the flickering golden light cast by the nearest wall torch.

'Were I a cruel-hearted person, I wouldn't care at all,' Abraxas smirked. 'But I think the fact that I've just overheard one of my esteemed professors casting an Unforgivable Curse on a fellow student is a cause for some concern, isn't it, McGonagall?'

'It's got nothing to do with you,' snapped Minerva, a cold sweat breaking out over the palms of her clenched fists.

'But it's got everything to do with you,' said Abraxas, a jeering note of false concern edging into his voice. 'Who knows what sorts of horrible things you've been forced into under the effects of that curse? What will Professor Dippet think, to know that his Deputy Headmaster has been frequently meeting students in his office when most of the castle has already retired for the night? What, McGonagall, will your parents think when they hear that their daughter's Outstanding marks in Transfiguration may not be completely merit-based?'

'You have no evidence for any of this!' hissed Minerva, shaking with fury.

'Prove it,' Abraxas challenged, victory glinting in his eyes. 'If you're as innocent as you say, surely you won't have any objection to answering any questions Professor Dippet may have?'

Minerva opened her mouth to argue, realised she had talked her way into a trap, and closed her mouth again into a tight, irate line, her eyes glinting furiously. There was no sound except the tap of footsteps and the gentle swish of robes as she followed Abraxas up stairways and past snoring portraits. The torches in their brackets threw eerie shadows in Abraxas's wake, and, despite her indignant fury over the whole situation, Minerva could not ignore the sense of dread churning in the pit of her stomach.

'I suppose you find this all highly amusing?' she said finally to the silvery back of Abraxas's head. 'Blackmailing people on false charges and all?'

'Oh please, McGonagall,' said Abraxas without looking at her, 'surely you understand that this is really just a small move in a larger game of strategies? You're not the only one Lord Voldemort wants removed from the castle, and, much to your disadvantage, I'm feeling so _lucky_ tonight that I don't think anything I do can go wrong.'

Somewhere beneath her stunned disbelief that the Slytherins would actually want Professor Dumbledore thrown out of Hogwarts, Minerva felt a nudge of disdain – so Riddle had gone so far as to give himself some ridiculous title, had he?

By this time, Abraxas had reached a blank wall with a gargoyle and stopped before it.

'Password?' sniffed the gargoyle.

'I'm afraid I haven't got it,' drawled Abraxas. 'But if you tell the Headmaster I'm here on urgent matters that concern the safety and integrity of the school, I'm sure he won't object to a few words with me?'

'Urgent, eh?' The gargoyle thought over the situation for a few seconds. 'Well, I suppose if it's _urgent_ …'

The wall opened, and Abraxas led the way up the spiral staircase to a polished wood door with its eagle knocker. Abraxas knocked three times and stood back. A few moments later, Professor Dippet answered the door in his striped flannel pyjamas, looking rather confused with his nightcap skewed lopsidedly over one ear.

'Mr Malfoy!' he exclaimed, standing aside so that they could enter his large circular office. 'And Miss McGonagall too! What in Merlin's name are you two doing here so late at night? If Mr Pringle caught you skulking about in corners after hours and sent you all the way up here to be reprimanded, please remind him that discipline is to be left to the Heads of Houses…'

'Actually, Professor, only one of us here was involved in any, ah, skulking, as you called it, and I'm afraid that said incident actually concerns one of your Heads of Houses,' Abraxas cut in smoothly, gesturing subtly with a wave of his hand towards Minerva (who was contemplating the proposed scenario with an expression of utter disgust wrinkling her nose).

The befuddled expression on Professor Dippet's face became, if possible, even more flabbergasted.

'What _are_ you talking about, Mr Malfoy?' he stuttered. 'Miss McGonagall, surely you can explain that this is all one large mistake?'

'Allow me, Headmaster,' interrupted Abraxas as Minerva opened her mouth to retort that this was all a very large mistake. 'Tonight, as I was returning from one of Professor Slughorn's little Slug Club meetings, I was passing by Professor Dumbledore's office, and heard voices coming from inside. I would have thought very little of it had I not heard Professor Dumbledore cast the Imperius Curse on the other person inside his office.'

The dramatic change in Professor Dippet's countenance would have been quite comical, had Minerva not been so terrified she was about to be expelled, or be responsible for the dismissal of her favourite teacher. The poor Headmaster's complexion changed from ruddy to a sallow pale reminiscent of lumpy porridge in a matter of seconds, and he swayed unevenly on his slipper-clad feet as he tried to grasp the full repercussions of the situation.

'Miss McGonagall, is this true?' he croaked after several seconds.

'Yes,' began Minerva, who had decided that lying would only get her into more trouble than she was already in, 'but…'

'Oh dear, oh dear,' mumbled Dippet to himself, wringing his hands. ' _Dumbledore_ … but why would he do such a thing? _Illegal_ to use the Imperius Curse on school grounds, and he knows it full well… oh dear me, if word of this should get out to the _Prophet_ …'

'Professor, I can explain!' insisted Minerva loudly, but Abraxas's smooth voice overlapped hers.

'I do not mean to imply that anything _immoral_ went on while Miss McGonagall was under the influence of the curse, especially since I don't like to suspect the worse in the case of a wizard as highly respected as Professor Dumbledore,' he continued. 'But I'm sure you'll agree with me, sir, that a deeper investigation into this whole matter seems in order…'

'Most certainly, Mr Malfoy, most certainly,' agreed Dippet, agitated. 'Good heavens, I never thought I'd see the day…'

Still muttering anxiously to himself, the ancient Headmaster bustled over to his fireplace and threw a pinch of glittering Floo powder into the crackling flames.

'Albus! A word with you here, please!' Dippet called into the flames, almost pleadingly.

Almost immediately, the tall figure of Professor Dumbledore appeared in the flames and emerged into the room, ducking slightly to avoid hitting his head on the stone mantelpiece.

'Good evening, Armando,' he said politely, brushing ash off of his deep purple dressing robe. If he had been at all surprised to see Abraxas and Minerva present, the Transfiguration professor did not show it as he acknowledged them both with a nod. 'You wanted to speak with me?'

'Yes, as a matter of fact,' said Dippet uncomfortably, twisting the edge of his pyjama shirt and not meeting his Deputy Headmaster's intense blue stare. 'Mr Malfoy here has just told me that he overheard you casting the Imperius Curse on Miss McGonagall this evening.'

'Did he?' Dumbledore sounded only mildly interested.

'Yes, and Miss McGonagall confirmed it,' continued Dippet a bit defensively, rather as though it were Dumbledore who was the accuser.

Minerva flinched slightly as Dumbledore turned his gaze towards her, but was relieved to see that he did not appear to be at all angry.

'As well she should have,' agreed Dumbledore, nodding to Minerva with an expression of absolute calm.

This was obviously not the reaction Dippet had been expecting or hoping for.

'Albus!' he gasped. 'Are you listening to what you are saying? You do realise that you've just admitted to having committed a crime punishable by time in Azkaban here on school grounds, and on a student too!'

'I see no reason to lie,' shrugged Dumbledore, 'but perhaps if you'll allow me to explain the situation fully…'

'Please do,' said Dippet faintly. 'Merlin knows I don't want to have to let you go, Albus, but if it comes to it, I may not have any other choice.'

'Very well. Minerva has expressed interest in becoming an Auror, and I therefore can see several useful reasons for her to become an Animagus. First, in these uncertain days, a fool-proof disguise can be invaluable to anyone, especially a witch or wizard who may become involved in espionage against the Dark forces. Second, based on several conversations I have had in the past months with Alastor Moody, it appears that the Ministry is so eager to churn out "qualified" Aurors to fight the forces rising to power on the continent that they have cut several critical elements of their Auror training program, among which is mental resistance to the Imperius Curse. I need not explain to you why a skill such as this would come in use to an Auror, in the event of capture…'

'Albus!' cried Dippet, aghast. 'This is not a debate over the competency of Ministry-trained Aurors! This is a matter of whether or not you have actually placed Miss McGonagall under the Imperius Curse, and, if so, what events have transpired as a result!'

Minerva opened her mouth angrily to defend Professor Dumbledore, but before she could even begin to speak, the professor himself had already pleaded guilty to the first charge:

'I have indeed placed Minerva under the Imperius Curse, not only tonight, but also on several other occasions. However,' Dumbledore continued, ignoring the stifled squeak of disbelief emitted by Dippet, 'in all events, I was using the curse only as a means of training Minerva to become an Animagus. I gave her the choice of using Occlumency to strengthen her mind against outside resistance, but she explicitly decided that she felt more comfortable using the Imperius Curse instead. I have endeavoured not to push her beyond the bounds of her comfort, and have never asked her to do anything that might compromise her safety or the safety of others.'

'Is this true, Miss McGonagall?' Dippet asked, and Minerva responded with a hearty nod. 'But, Albus, surely it's not worth breaking the law to unnecessarily…'

'Professor,' cut in Abraxas, 'as much as I'm sure we'd like to believe everything Professor Dumbledore is saying, I'm not sure I'd feel safe until he's be questioned more thoroughly. Because, how can we be sure he does not have McGonagall under the Imperius Curse right now so that she can back all of his claims?'

'An excellent point, Mr Malfoy,' cried Dumbledore as Dippet began to stammer again. 'By all means, Armando, please summon Horace and ask him to bring some Veritaserum with him. I would not want any doubt regarding this whole matter to rest in either your mind or the mind of Mr Malfoy.'

Poor Professor Dippet had no choice to but to call for the Potions professor, who burst from the fireplace as Dumbledore finished conjuring up squishy armchairs for all assembled. Minerva averted her eyes in dismay at the sight of Slughorn practically popping out of a hideous set of green silk pyjamas – she swore to herself that, in the unlikely event she ever became a professor, she would _never_ let herself be seen by any of her students in her nightclothes, it was really far too disturbing.

'Evening, Armando,' boomed Slughorn cheerfully, 'and Albus too, lovely surprise… I say, what are you two doing in here at this hour?'

Abraxas opened his mouth to explain, but Dippet quickly cut him off. 'Terribly sorry to trouble you at this hour of the evening, Horace, but there's been a slight problem… well, very well, a rather large problem… and I must ask you if you could lend us a bit of Veritaserum.'

'Of course,' said Slughorn magnanimously, summoning a bottle from his stores with a muttered, ' _Accio_.' 'But really, don't you think that's a bit much when it's a simple case of student delinquency…'

'Have no fear, Horace,' said Dumbledore serenely. 'The Veritaserum is for myself, not for Abraxas or Minerva.'

Slughorn froze with the newly-summoned bottle of Veritaserum clasped in one of his sweaty palms, and turned to stare at Dumbledore in amazement.

'What?' asked the Potions professor after a long moment of shocked silence. 'Albus? Surely… but, Armando, why?'

'That's what I'm hoping to find out,' sighed the wizened old Headmaster, passing a hand wearily over his eyes and conjuring two goblets out of thin air. Dumbledore quickly vanished the second with a wave of his wand.

'As I told Horace, Armando,' he said in a frighteningly quiet voice, 'the Veritaserum is for me and me alone. Any information you need to know regarding this whole incident can be determined by the testimony of only one person, and that person will be me.'

Dippet opened his mouth to argue, glanced towards Minerva, changed his mind, and nodded tersely. While Slughorn watched in a state of utter bewilderment, Dumbledore took the small bottle of potion and downed it in one gulp, his piercing blue eyes meeting Minerva's in the second before they went uncharacteristically blank.

'Now, Albus, you know I don't want to question you for too long, so let's get straight to the point,' said Dippet, clearly extremely uncomfortable. 'Did you place Miss McGonagall under the Imperius Curse tonight?'

'Yes,' replied Dumbledore in a dull voice that made Minerva shiver slightly.

'And have you done so on nights previous to tonight?'

'Yes.'

'During those nights when you placed Miss McGonagall under the Imperius Curse, did you ever force her to do anything that would be considered by the Ministry of Magic illegal?' asked Dippet hesitantly.

'No.'

Dippet relaxed visibly. 'Thank Merlin. And I should like to assume that nothing illegal went on even with Miss McGonagall's consent in the matter?'

'No.'

Minerva shot a glance towards Abraxas, who was more and more quickly looking as though he had been sucking on a wedge of sour lemon. Smirking slightly, she turned her attention back on her professors.

'Is Miss McGonagall the only student you have been attempting to train to become an Animagus?'

'Yes.'

'An Animagus?' A look of realisation dawned on Slughorn's face. 'The Imperius Curse… oh, but Albus, why in Merlin's name would you risk throwing away your career, your credibility, your very name, all for the sake of a student?'

The question was asked out of frustration on Slughorn's part, but Dumbledore answered it dutifully: 'Because Minerva reminded me very much of myself when I was young and unable to reach my full potential by myself. Because she has exceptional gifts that should be nurtured, and not hidden for the sake of conformity. Because she reminded me of what my sister could have been, if not for my own selfishness…'

'That's enough, Albus,' said Professor Dippet quietly, and Dumbledore immediately fell silent. 'Horace, the antidote, if you please…'

With another flick of Slughorn's wand, another tiny bottle popped into the fireplace in a flash of green and zoomed into Slughorn's hand. He handed the bottle to Dippet and stood aside looking solemnly at the ground as Dippet carefully poured the contents of the bottle down Dumbledore's throat. Although the office was warm from the heat of the crackling fire, Minerva felt goose pimples rising all up and down her arms, and as she stared at the blank expression on Dumbledore's face, she wished she had never accepted his offer for Animagus training, that none of this had ever happened…

A few moments later, the familiar glitter returned to the Transfiguration professor's eyes, and he smiled benignly at his colleagues.

'I trust all of your questions have been adequately answered, Armando?' he said pleasantly.

'Yes, indeed,' mumbled Dippet, fiddling with the edge of his pyjama shirt again and not meeting Dumbledore's eyes. 'My apologies, Albus, but I did think it best to…'

'I understand,' said Dumbledore gently.

Minerva glanced over towards Abraxas again, just in time to see his face redden with anger as he checked his watch. And then it occurred to her…

'It looks as though your little plan to get Professor Dumbledore sacked hasn't worked out, Malfoy,' she muttered just loud enough so that Abraxas alone could hear her. 'Unfortunately for you, you'll have to tell Riddle that you _ran out of luck_.'

Abraxas shot Minerva a murderous glare. 'If you tell anyone…' he snarled under his breath.

'Oh, I don't think I shall,' muttered Minerva vengefully. 'Besides, I don't really need to, seeing as it seems Professor Slughorn has just overheard our entire conversation.'

And indeed, Slughorn had during this time crept up behind Abraxas's chair, hoping to hear some juicy gossip and instead turning more and more flushed by the second. Before Abraxas could react, Slughorn grabbed Malfoy by the arm and was hissing barely audible words into the Slytherin's ear, looking more like an irate walrus than ever.

'Is this true, Abraxas? You used Felix Felicis to try to make Professor Dumbledore leave Hogwarts?'

Abraxas tried to squirm out of Slughorn's grasp without Dippet or Dumbledore noticed. 'You can't say anything to anyone,' he hissed back at his Head of House. 'You're the one who gave it to us, and I'm sure that wasn't allowed either!'

Slughorn mouthed wordlessly like a huge, apoplectic fish, then turned his bristling red face menacingly from Abraxas to Minerva, and back again.

'If either of you say _anything_ about Felix to any of the other professors, I will make sure you both regret it for the rest of your years at Hogwarts,' he rumbled ominously, letting go of Abraxas's arm with a shove.

'Everything all right, Horace?' called Dippet in a feeble voice. Slughorn immediately straightened up and turned to face his employer, the image of his usual jovial self.

'Oh yes, of course,' he boomed. 'Just impressing the importance of not mentioning this little incident to anyone else upon these two young people… could cause quite the scandal if word got out to the _Prophet_ …' He shot the two students warning glances to drive this point home as well.

'Very good, very good,' said Dippet. 'Well, I suppose we can wrap up any loose ends concerning this matter tomorrow… Albus, if you wouldn't mind meeting me in my office tomorrow morning before you leave for the Ministry, I'd just like a few quick words with you regarding the obeisance I expect from you regarding the rules at this school for the future.'

'Certainly,' said Dumbledore graciously. 'Good night, Armando, Horace, Abraxas…'

Dumbledore did not wait for Slughorn and Abraxas to emerge from Dippet's office behind him. He immediately began to walk briskly down the corridors without a word to Minerva, who followed in respectful silence. As they neared the portrait hole, Minerva finally mustered up the courage to speak: 'I assume this means our lessons are over?'

Dumbledore did not slack his pace, but turned his head towards Minerva, sorrowful acceptance dimming his eyes. 'I'm afraid so, Minerva.'

Minerva nodded tensely. She wanted so much to make Dumbledore understand the guilt that was churning her stomach, but did not know the best way to do so. 'Professor, I… I'm sorry, I never realised…'

'It's not your fault, Minerva,' Dumbledore said firmly, coming to an abrupt halt and putting a hand on Minerva's shoulder so that he could look her straight in the eyes. 'I knew the risk I was taking when I approached you with the opportunity to become an Animagus. What happened tonight has nothing whatsoever to do with you, and you may rest assured that any damage done to my reputation is completely and utterly the result of my own actions.' Dumbledore smiled wryly. 'It's not the first time such things have happened, and I'm certain it will not be the last.'

'But…' Minerva began, sure that she deserved at least some of the blame.

'My only regret,' Dumbledore continued, 'is that you will most likely not be able to complete your training until after you have left Hogwarts, should you choose to do so. I can't say how proud I am of you, Minerva. You have shown exceptional skill and, more importantly, dedication in this endeavour, and I'm sorry that I cannot help you go further even as you are so close to reaching your goal.'

Minerva stared at the ground, and nodded, feeling a lump in her throat and willing herself not to let tears seep from the corners of her eyes. Dumbledore squeezed her shoulder gently before walking her the last few halls to the portrait hole, where the Fat Lady snored softly in her massive picture frame. Not wanting to wake her, Dumbledore tapped the edge of the frame with his wand, and bade Minerva good night as the portrait hole swung silently open and the young witch disappeared behind it.

* * *

Though he knew it was late, Albus did not return immediately to his chambers to finish packing for his trip to the Ministry. Instead, he stood in the darkening hallway for several long moments, his long shadow stretching and flickering in the light of the agitated torches, staring at the Fat Lady's portrait without really seeing it. Had it really been so long ago that he himself had snuck out of this same portrait hole to read thick tomes from the forbidden section of the Library, only to be reprimanded by the Fat Lady when he returned several hours after everyone else had gone to sleep? The thought made Albus smile briefly, but, as always, he was saddened by the realisation that he viewed the events of his childhood as a spectator watching a world completely remote from any familiar reality. His life was firmly divided into two parts, cracked down the middle by disaster and irreconcilable to each other. Those days as an inquisitive young wizard fell into the existence he had known before Gellert, while everything that had made him who he was today fell into the harsh reality into which he had been suddenly thrown after.

It was no good longing for the past, Albus knew that full well. Yet he could not shake the feeling that part of his motivation in helping Minerva was to try to reconstruct what he had knew was lost. Her intelligence, her rebelliousness, her loyalty… these were all qualities that Albus recognised in himself, and was sure that Ariana would have exhibited as well, had she grown up as any other child. Loath as Albus was to admit it, he knew that a part of him cared for Minerva as much as he did because she was his second chance; he could help and protect her the way he had not helped and protect Ariana, and thereby gain whatever small redemption there was to be gained for an act for which he knew he could never forgive himself.

The torches flickered as a slight draft wended its way down the stony corridor. Albus shivered and quickly began to walk down the corridors, as if doing so would help him escape the ghosts of his past whose voices reverberated up and down the hall after him, louder and louder… _Gellert's mocking laugh, a laugh completely incongruent to the handsome face of his talented friend… the impassioned thud of his own heart as he snatched his wand from the nearby table and shouted the first curse that came to his mind (which curse it was, he could not remember)… the animal-like scream that issued from Aberforth's throat, a scream that still made the hairs on the back of Albus's neck stand on end when he heard it over and over in the stillness of his room at night… his heart still pounding over the sound of his ragged sobs as he heard Gellert whisper, 'What have you done, Albus? Merlin, what have you done?'_

Albus reached unsteadily for the door handle, pulled himself into the safety of his chambers, and leaned against the door on legs weakened with shame, his breathing rough. The voices from his past receded slowly into the darkest crevices of his mind, and only then was Albus able to exhale slowly. So many times he had considered ending his torment and simply storing the memories in his Pensieve, but he knew he never would be able to do so; these memories were what upheld his resolution to do what was right, not what was easy, and to try to ignore them would be to shame Ariana's memory.

Besides, the Pensieve was becoming as cluttered and disquieting as the stacks of articles clipped from the _Daily Prophet_ that lay in disorderly heaps on top of the cabinet that held the Pensieve. Albus shook his head wearily at the sight of both, not sure which he feared more: his memories of the past, or his predictions for the future.


	12. Hidden and Revealed

Though things appeared for all goods and purposes normal, Minerva noticed a definite rift had formed between Slughorn and Abraxas Malfoy. Much as Malfoy attempted to wheedle his way back into the Potions teacher's favour, Slughorn made no attempt to conceal his discomfort every time Malfoy placed a tin of caramelized pineapple on his desk in a vain attempt to win back Slughorn's trust; the professor would almost always excuse himself loudly for a faculty meeting and rush out the door, leaving a disgruntled Malfoy behind. Minerva also suspected that Malfoy's invitation to the Slug Club had been revoked, as he was no longer at the few dinners that neither she nor Jeff could talk their way out of.

Minerva was glad to see that Professor Dumbledore's attitude towards her had not changed in the slightest, regardless of how close he had come to being sacked because of her. Neither ever mentioned the subject of Animagi to each other, though from time to time Minerva could swear she caught a look of slight sorrow gleaming in Dumbledore's eyes as he exclaimed, 'Excellent work, Miss McGonagall!' in Transfiguration class.

And so time wore on, with very little change at Hogwarts. It took very little time for Augusta, Pomona, and Paul to catch on to the fact that Jeff and Minerva were now considerably more than friends, and all three accepted the fact with tacit approval. Though her own private lessons with Professor Dumbledore were now over, Minerva continued to coach Jeff on conjuring his own Patronus; not at all to Minerva's surprise, he managed to get the hang of it after only a few lessons.

What did surprise her, however, was the sudden appearance of Jeff's tabby Patronus in the Gryffindor common room as she coached Augusta through some tricky Charms work one evening. Minerva stiffened a bit as she heard a mewing behind her, certain that it was some cat come to torment her, as she had decided that the little beasts could somehow discern her allergies and thus flocked to her in particular; so when a silvery form leapt lightly onto her lap, she attempted to brush it off with her hand before realising that the form had no real substance.

'Merlin,' she said in bewilderment as Jeff's Patronus curled up on her lap and looked up at her with huge semi-opaque pupils, the tip of its tail twitching.

'What is it?' asked Augusta, still staring down at her essay and reading over what she'd just written with her brow furrowed.

'Jeff's Patronus,' Minerva explained, gesturing awkwardly to the feline on her lap. Augusta looked up, confused, and leaned over the arm of the sofa on which she was sitting.

'Oh, isn't it cute?' she cooed. 'Looks just like his cat, have you seen him?' Minerva rolled her eyes.

'Yes, I have, but you seem to be overlooking the strangeness of the situation, Augusta,' she said. 'I didn't even know Patronuses could be sent so far from their wizards, let alone through walls.'

Augusta raised her eyebrows, absently rubbing the tip of her quill against her chin.

'So you're saying that Jeff is pioneering a new method of Patronus usage?' she asked. 'I'm sure other people have figured this out by now, Minerva.'

'Probably.' Minerva continued to watch the tabby in fascination. 'But in all the research I've done, people usually allow their Patronuses to fade away after a Dementor attack has been repelled. I've never read about anything like this.'

'And of course that means it _has_ to be revolutionary,' muttered Augusta under her breath.

But Minerva's interest was now piqued, and she made her way over to the Ravenclaw table the next morning at breakfast.

'Hello,' she said to the surrounding Ravenclaw students, who by this time were used to Minerva's frequent appearances at their breakfast table and obligingly scooted over on the bench to make room for her next to Jeff. 'What were you up to last night?' she asked under her breath as she slid onto the bench next to him.

Jeff grinned. 'So it worked, then?'

'How on earth did you do it?'

'Well, I was bored, and all the other Ravenclaws had already gone up to bed, and my cat Mourek kept leaping onto my lap and spilling my inkwell all over my Transfiguration book. So I thought I might see how he reacted to having another cat around – albeit a conjured, non-corporeal one – and, well…' Jeff shrugged. 'Once I'd figured out I could send it through walls, I thought I might see how far it could go within the castle.'

'But you've never seen the Gryffindor common room,' Minerva pointed out.

'True.' Jeff shrugged again. 'I just told it to go find you.'

Minerva blinked. 'It takes directions from you?'

'Makes sense, though, doesn't it? I mean, not that I've ever had to use a Patronus against a Dementor, but aren't you supposed to be able to, I dunno, tell it to charge at them, and whatnot?'

'Jeff, this could be a whole new form of magical communication! I mean, could you hear me and Augusta talking?'

'No! No, of course not,' Jeff laughed. 'I wasn't even sure it had worked till you just told me it had. Maybe in the future, though…'

'Hm.' Minerva pursed her lips. 'Well, I won't deny it caught me off my guard, but so long as it doesn't start shedding on my robes, I don't mind any further appearances.'

* * *

Within no time, Minerva and Jeff were sending Patronuses about the school regularly after hours; even when trying to study without distraction in the Gryffindor common room, Minerva still found it comforting to have Jeff's Patronus keeping her company, napping on the back of her armchair as she worked. A major breakthrough came when Jeff discovered that verbal messages could be sent via Patronus; neither he nor Minerva could determine if it was possible to speak continuously ('Like with a telephone!' Jeff tried to explain to a very confused Minerva), but it was still very satisfying to be able to send each other whispered bits of gossip or complaints about schoolwork throughout the course of the day when no one else was looking.

The winter holidays came and went; Minerva and Augusta both opted to stay at Hogwarts with Jeff, and the three soon began a vicious snowball war that lasted the entire break, during which each tried to catch the others off their guard outside and assault them with snowballs in what Jeff ironically termed 'snowball _blitzkrieg_ '. This war continued long after the holidays ended and the rest of the students returned, mainly because Peeves had caught onto the practice and had taken to bombarding bewildered first years as they walked to the greenhouses, sending them flying in all directions with shrieks.

Snow was falling lightly one evening in mid-January as Minerva trudged a short ways into the Forbidden Forest to put some Bludgers away in the Quidditch shed. She had been afraid that her team would have become lazy after spending a few weeks doing nothing but eat large festive meals at home with their families, but to her delight they had had a better practice this evening than before the holidays had begun – perhaps they had just gotten some much-needed rest, Minerva speculated, as she'd rarely seen Judith look so awake at practice, and to her great delight Jason and Matthew had spent more time hitting Bludgers than discussing girls. Darkness was falling quickly, but Minerva took her time, enjoying the sharp slap of the cold on her face and the crunch of the lightly-packed snow beneath her feet, feeling an incongruous combination of elation and tranquillity.

However, as she locked the Bludgers safely into the shed with a brisk tap of her wand, Minerva distinctly heard voices arguing a short ways away through the trees. Frowning, and hoping very much that Peeves hadn't just assaulted one of her Quidditch players with a snowball attack, she lit the end of her wand with a muttered ' _Lumos_ ' and headed in the direction of the sound.

In only a few moments, Minerva arrived on the edge of a small clearing, extinguishing her wand quickly so that she could get a better sense of what was going on before intervening. A massive figure was crouched on the ground, clutching something to its chest, and before it stood a tall, thin silhouette, a harsh, bright light glowing from the wand it held aloft.

'Give it here, Rubeus,' said the cold, commanding voice of Tom Riddle as the boy stretched out his hand. 'You know it's what's best for it.'

'Hands off, yeh murderer!' growled the huge boy, shrinking a bit further back. 'Yeh may've gotten the rest of 'em, but yeh're not touchin' her!'

'Having dogs in the dormitories is strictly against school policies, Rubeus,' explained Riddle in the patient tone with which one might address a stubborn child. 'You wouldn't have been allowed to keep them anyway, had Professor Dippet found out; it was inevitable that they would have been killed. Now, hand the last puppy over to me…'

'Never!' howled the boy. 'I'll tell Professor Dumbledore what yeh did, how yeh drowned the rest of 'em in the lake, yeh great bully! He'll make sure yeh pay the price for it!'

'No one will ever find the bodies,' said Riddle quietly, 'and Professor Dippet wouldn't object to it if I told him I'd drowned a number of werewolf pups you were raising in your room, would he?'

The boy blinked in confusion. 'They were _boarhounds_ ,' he said, 'not _werewolves_.'

'I'd like to see you explain that to Professor Dippet when the evidence has sunk to the bottom of the lake.' Riddle smiled icily. 'Now for the last time, Rubeus, give me the little bitch before I take her from you by force…'

Riddle raised his wand in a swift jerk as Hagrid threw himself forward with a roar. Minerva sensed that now was as good a time as any to intervene, and stepped swiftly from the trees.

'Is there a problem here?' she snapped briskly. Riddle's hand froze in midair, and the boy fell backwards, staring appraisingly at Minerva as if trying to decide whom she would help.

'Nothing at all,' said Riddle smoothly, pocketing his wand. 'I was just having a little talk with Rubeus here about school policies regarding pets.' He threw a sneering glance towards the giant huddling defensively on the ground, and the boy instinctively recoiled in fear and hatred.

'Well, I see no reason why such a discussion should be held in the middle of the woods at night,' argued Minerva briskly. Her eyes met Riddle's; the challenging gleam in them made her feel as if he knew that she had overheard more than he had told her, and she briefly considered confronting him before deciding against it; an impromptu duel with Riddle could only cause trouble and would not bring back drowned puppies. 'Might I suggest you move your orations back towards the castle, before I have to take points from Slytherin? It's not safe to be this far into the woods when it's this dark outside.'

Riddle glanced towards Minerva's wand, which she was holding quite steadily at an angle pointed directly at Riddle's chest; with a curt nod and a dangerous smile, he quickly disappeared into the woods. Minerva stared after him, eyes flashing, her breath coming in quick puffs visible in the cold and her cheeks reddened in anger. It was at moments like these that she hated Riddle the most, when he bullied younger students and intimidated his victims into silence. Once she had regained control of herself, she looked down at the boy huddled on the ground.

'It's Hagrid, isn't it?' she said kindly, offering the boy a hand, which he accepted awkwardly, nearly pulling Minerva over as he heaved himself to his feet with a grunt. 'I'm Minerva McGonagall, one of your prefects.'

'Yeah, I know,' the boy muttered, glancing sheepishly at Minerva and then back down at the tiny puppy he held squirming inside his coat. 'Thanks for helpin' me.'

'Of course,' said Minerva, dropping her voice sympathetically as the two started back towards the castle, Minerva's wand lighting the way. 'I've been on the receiving end of Riddle's bullying often enough to sympathize with any other Gryffindor in that situation.'

'Idiot,' Hagrid scoffed. 'If I were him, I'd know better than to provoke yeh, Miss McGonagall. Common knowledge yeh're more than a match for him.'

Minerva smiled wryly. 'Well, let's just say he doesn't care too much for my associates.'

'Yeh should've taught him a lesson,' grumbled Hagrid. 'I'd've done it a long time ago, if I could hold a candle to him in terms of magic.'

'Does he target you often?' asked Minerva, frowning in concern.

'Yeah.' Hagrid sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. 'He don' like people who're different, Riddle.'

'I know,' said Minerva softly. 'Well, if anything like this ever happens again, come and find me, will you?'

Hagrid nodded, still sniffling; Minerva pretended not to notice. They continued on in silence till they reached the castle doors and Hagrid stopped.

'Riddle said they'd kill 'er if they found 'er in my room,' he muttered, pulling the puppy out of his coat and letting her eagerly lick his broad neck.

'Nonsense.' Minerva pulled open the door with some difficulty and held it open for Hagrid. 'I'll talk to Professor Dumbledore; perhaps he could get a pen set up on the grounds for her.'

Hagrid's eyes beamed gratitude. 'Yeh'd do that?' he asked excitedly, for all the world like a great puppy himself.

'Certainly.' Minerva held out a hand for Hagrid to shake; Hagrid took it, blushing furiously.

'Thank yeh, Miss McGonagall,' he stammered, looking at his toes. 'Best be off now… see yeh around…'

And away he skidded down the entry hall in his damp shoes, the little puppy yipping cheerfully in his arms.

* * *

True to her word, Minerva spoke with Professor Dumbledore about Hagrid's puppy, and the Deputy Headmaster obligingly set up a little pen near Ogg's hut for the dog; Hagrid was often seen rushing to and from the pen after meals to share little portions of meat with his pet. Minerva suspected that Professor Dumbledore had also given Hagrid tacit permission to bring the dog into the common room on the coldest nights, for it became a common sight to see the rapidly-growing boarhound curled up asleep in front of the fire.

Minerva was both embarrassed and mildly flattered at how enamoured of her Hagrid had become; he was always eager to lend her a helping hand, holding doors and the portrait hole open for her whenever possible, and immediately flushing scarlet whenever she thanked him. Augusta loved to tease Minerva about her obvious admirer, asking cheekily, 'So, Minerva, how jealous should Jeff be of all this?'

'For the last time, Augusta,' Minerva snapped one day as the friends struggled out of the Three Broomsticks, 'will you just let the whole thing drop?'

Augusta smirked. Jeff nudged Minerva in the ribs with his elbow. 'Just ignore her,' he whispered, giving Minerva a quick kiss on the cheek.

It was a bleary afternoon in late March. The snow had melted into slush throughout the streets of Hogsmeade; the air was crisp and a general mood of grey lay over the entire village. Pomona shuddered as a gust of chilly air swept through the frozen lanes, pulling her cloak tight around herself as she did so.

'Goodness, it's cold!' she chattered. 'I vote we swing by Honeydukes, and then get back to Hogwarts as soon as possible.'

'I told Paul I'd meet him at Madam Puddifoot's,' said Augusta, blushing. 'Sorry, Pomona.'

Pomona raised an eyebrow at Minerva with an expression that quite clearly asked if Minerva and Jeff were going to follow suite, but to Minerva's disappointment, Jeff took a swig of his butterbeer and said that he had to finish a Transfiguration paper and should probably return to Hogwarts. Though Minerva herself had work to do, she had decided to take the day off from school, and so opted to wander the deserted streets of Hogsmeade for a bit, with only her thoughts for company.

Though Minerva knew the world was changing for the worse, it was impossible to believe such things on days such as these. Removed from reality, surrounded by the village charm of Hogsmeade and guarded by the knowledge of a warm fireside awaiting her back at Hogwarts, it seemed to Minerva that thus the countryside had existed since the beginnings of time, and thus it would remain. She stopped to lean against a picket fence, enjoying the absolute silence that ensued when the sound of her boots squelching through the mud had ceased. A large lot, filled with the delicate green of young grass, spread before her, and Minerva wondered why no one had ever bothered to build anything there; it was at least large enough for a good-sized house…

'Might I be so rude as to interrupt your thoughts for a moment, Minerva?' a voice said just behind Minerva, making her jump in surprise.

'Oh, Professor!' she said, turning round. 'Sorry, you startled me…'

Minerva stopped, staring in curiosity at the man standing next to Dumbledore. He was a sturdily-built man, wrapped in a heavy cloak, with roughly-hewn features and appraising black eyes that glanced swiftly up and down Minerva's personage as she did the same.

'Minerva, I'd like you to meet my good friend Alastor Moody, Head of the Auror Department at the Ministry of Magic,' Dumbledore explained. 'Alastor, this is Minerva McGonagall.'

'McGonagall, eh?' Moody nodded approvingly, extending a hand to Minerva; his handshake was strong and confident. 'Aeneas McGonagall's daughter, I assume. Good man – one of the best in the Ministry, I daresay. I've tried to convince him to run for Minister more times than I can count, but he's too damn smart to want to go into politics. Too smart, and a sight too honest.' Moody let out a barking laugh.

'Thank you,' said Minerva, unsure of how to respond.

'And your mum's Alexia McMillan, isn't she,' Moody continued in his gruff voice. 'Can see the resemblance. Saved my life once, your mum did… some blackguard had slipped poison into my drink at a pub, and I can say with some certainty that I wouldn't be here talking to you right now if your mum hadn't been nearby with a spare bezoar in her pocket. One of the few people I'd actually accept a drink from – can't be too careful nowadays.' He held up a drinking flask by way of explanation and took a long swig out of it. Minerva nodded politely.

'Minerva has expressed interest in becoming an Auror after leaving Hogwarts,' Dumbledore said, 'and she's already more than proficient at summoning a corporeal Patronus and fending off the Imperius Curse.'

'That so?' Moody grinned. 'Excellent. We need new blood in the Auror Department, and young people with _talent_ … Merlin knows we've got enough new recruits severely lacking in that. Dark times ahead, no doubt about that, but if your parents are any indication of your talent – and if Professor Dumbledore hasn't been lying to me all afternoon in his praise of you – I daresay we'll be expecting great things from you, Miss McGonagall.'

'You know, Alastor, if we're going to make it to the Three Broomsticks before it closes, we'd best go now,' Dumbledore said as Minerva blushed. 'Unless, of course, you don't mind going to the Hog's Head…'

'I'll take the former,' snorted Moody. 'Not that I ever have anything to drink, of course, but damn it, Albus, can't you tell Aberforth to clean the goat smell out of his bloody pub…?'

'I've hinted at it to the point of bluntness, and still no results.' Dumbledore sighed theatrically. 'Care to join us, Minerva?'

'Oh, no thanks,' said Minerva hastily. 'I was just thinking of heading back to the castle.'

'See you in a few years, McGonagall,' growled Moody with a wink; and, with the whirl of two cloaks, Minerva was again left alone by the picket fence.

* * *

April dawned bright and warm, and Minerva accepted Ravenclaw's narrow victory over Gryffindor in the Quidditch House Cup with good grace, swearing to herself that next year would be Gryffindor's year as she shook Jeff's hand somewhat more forcefully than perhaps was necessary. Before she knew it, exams were looming in the foreseeable future; accordingly, she and her friends took to the Library for diligent study, trying their best to concern themselves as little as possible with the turbulence of the outside world.

Though murmurs about the war had been sweeping through common rooms and about the Great Hall during meals, creating an undercurrent of anxiety amidst the students, nothing could have prepared the school for one morning in May. Owls swooped and glided beneath the bewitched ceiling as students down below caught parcels and letters as they chatted with their friends over breakfast. Minerva had just slipped a coin into the pouch of a large great-horned owl in payment for her _Daily Prophet_ when a strangled cry emanated from the professors' table. Heads turned as Professor Merrythought, attempting to stand, swayed slowly on the spot with an unfocused gaze; then, her eyes rolling back into her head, she fell to the ground. Hushed exclamations hissed through the crowd of staring students, and as Professors Slughorn and Dumbledore rushed immediately to the aid of the unconscious witch crumpled between them, Minerva glanced down at the newspaper in her hands, whose headline read: 'DARK WIZARDS INVADE FRANCE; RESISTORS KILLED.' Beneath the caption was a photograph of a witch sobbing over the body of her dead child, and the grieving mother's face looked uncannily like that of a young Professor Merrythought.

'Look,' she muttered, shoving the paper towards Augusta, who was gaping open-mouthed at the drama unfolding at the front of the hall. Minerva would not have thought it would be possible for Augusta's eyes to grow any wider, but so they did upon seeing the photograph.

'Her daughter?' whispered Augusta, glancing up in shock.

'Must be… didn't Jeff say that Professor Merrythought's grandchildren were in France?'

'Merlin.' Augusta bit her lip, which was beginning to quiver. 'Can you imagine anything more horrible.'

The two friends turned in tandem towards the professors' table, where Professor Dumbledore had succeeded in reviving Professor Merrythought and was escorting her out of the Great Hall, one of her trembling arms draped unsteadily over his shoulder. The murmurs around the hall grew louder upon this exit, and out of the corner of her eye, Minerva saw Jeff leap up from the Ravenclaw table and sprint towards the door through which the professors had exited.

'Give me a moment, will you?' she said to Augusta, whose attention was glued in horror to the photograph on the front page of the _Prophet_. Slipping out from behind the bench, she dodged through the teeming mass of students and followed Jeff up the stairs before finally catching him by the elbow in a second-storey hallway.

'Where on earth do you think you're going?' she panted.

'I have to see Professor Merrythought,' he replied distractedly, trying to tug his arm from her grip.

'Good heavens, Jeff, they wouldn't let you in to see her right now!' Minerva exclaimed. 'You should talk to her later, after she's recovered from the shock.'

'You don't know what this is all about!' snarled Jeff, wrenching himself from Minerva's grasp. 'When I'd lost my parents and my grandmother, and my uncle and my sister, she treated me like I was practically her own grandson, and I owe it to her to be there for her!'

'Oh, Jeff…' Minerva sighed. 'Don't talk about your uncle and your sister that way, they're still alive and fine.'

'Are they?' Jeff snapped. 'Can you really call it _living_ , what they're going through? Deprived of virtually every right that a human being deserves, not allowed to even own a _radio_ , for God's sake – and branded with a yellow star, like cattle!' Jeff slammed his fists against the wall. 'I keep telling myself they'll survive this, but people are dying every day over there, Minerva, and I can't believe it any more, I just can't. And that means that you and Augusta and Pomona and Paul and Professor Merrythought are the only family I have left.'

To her surprise, Minerva realised she was on the verge of slapping Jeff for this warped logic, in the hopes of returning him to his senses, but Jeff leaned suddenly against the wall as if exhausted.

'I just want to make sure she's all right,' he said flatly, and he glanced at the front page of the newspaper, crumpled in his fist.

Minerva took a step forward and gently pried the newspaper from Jeff's hand. 'Come on,' she said softly. 'Professor Merrythought will be fine, I promise you. You'll see her later, and everything will be fine.'

After a moment, Jeff nodded; Minerva could only imagine the horrible memories he was reliving in that moment. She crumpled the newspaper article and threw it to the ground; then, taking Jeff's hand in her own and giving it a tight squeeze, the two made their way slowly back down to the Great Hall in silence.

The flames flickered in the hallway, though there was no breeze to speak of. A moment later, a slim figure moved from the shadowy doorway from which he had been watching his two nemeses; with long, spider-like fingers, Tom Riddle picked the crumpled article off the ground, smirked at it, and destroyed it in a flash of smoke and flame. Funny how sentimental people could get over problems that really weren't even their own. He would have devoted more attention to the scenario, had he not more important things on his mind.

With even steps, Riddle strode purposefully down the hallway, his exterior not betraying for an instant the frantic drumming of his heart. After years of careful research and clandestine speculation, perhaps he had finally reached the solution to his burning question – the mere notion was exhilarating. He paused before the bathroom door, glancing from left to right quickly before entering… not that anyone would be in here, after the ruckus in the Great Hall. Still, Riddle knew better than to take his chances; he had done so much already that it was unthinkable that his plans should be arrested by something as ridiculous as being seen entering a girl's bathroom.

The interior of the bathroom was unremarkable; tiled, cold, almost hospital-like in its austerity. Riddle scanned the walls carefully, searching for some sign, any sign. It _had_ to be here, he was certain… Breathing deeply, Riddle leaned back against the sinks, and his fingers brushed something carved into one of the taps.

Riddle smiled a cold, mirthless smile. Of course it was too late to launch his plan now; with only a few weeks of school left, it would be foolish to begin an overt attack on impure bloodlines, no one would return after the summer holidays. But he could wait. He had waited this long; what more could one summer be? He had waited for this his whole life; as the last of the line of Salazar Slytherin, it had been his destiny from the moment he was born. His eyes gleamed with a sort of eerie fanaticism, his heart was pounding with a surge of excitement – beneath his fingers lay the keys to power, to fame, to becoming someone who would never be forgotten by the world.

' _Open_ ,' he hissed.


	13. Fair Is Foul

_In the darkness, there is a steady drip, drip, drip. All is still – the scrabble of a mouse's feet on the stone would echo through the hall, frighteningly loud. Fear magnifies; fear traps with its illusions. Only one who enters with no fear ("Abandon all hope, ye who enter here") may hope to survive to tell the tale outside… outside, where? In the daylight? Such notions cannot survive out in the brightness; they wriggle, they squirm; they lose their power and are laughed back into holes, scurrying and sliding. I am that which cannot be named. What's in a name? Not any part belonging to a man. I control by being that which is undefined. To be pinned down in my movement and my position would destroy me (is impossible – Heisenberg). I destroy as a shadow. I kill as a thought._

_Through the dampness I slither, I wind. I am ageless, beyond memory, slinking between Time and Space (both malleable – Einstein). Unbound, I am stirred by instinct, driven by a pair of cold, unrelenting eyes. My mission is to survive. And to survive is to obey the paths set down by nature._

_Out of the depths I undulate, my fangs bared, my eyes wild._

* * *

Everything had changed.

Hogwarts was the same as it had always been; beautiful, pristine, isolated. But if one listened closely, one would have sworn that the birds sang hesitantly, the lake lay unnervingly still, the owls quivered in the Owlery and no longer soared freely through the night skies unless commanded. The students went about their daily business – classes, homework, even Quidditch – but their movements were learned, slightly mechanical; fleeting smiles, curt nods, suspicious glances. Whispers pervaded the air, and laughter was heard seldom. No one was to be trusted.

The attack from within the Ministry had come suddenly, on an innocuous day in the summer (the tenth of July, 1940, to be exact). The first warning signs were a series of distant booms above the ground that made even the enchanted ceiling of the underground establishment crack and emit a stream of dust onto the floor of the cavernous Atrium. Witches and wizards, Apparating into work for the day, glanced at the trembling ceiling, shook their heads, and mumbled in annoyance about the Muggles and their little "bombs," or whatever they were called.

But for all the magical world tried to ignore the quaking earth, their efforts proved in vain. At three o'clock in the afternoon precisely, a Dark wizard (whose identity never was ascertained, though many claimed to have seen Cygnus Black near the premises afterwards) entered the Minister of Magic's office and shot him point-blank in the forehead with a Muggle pistol, which was then thrown into the blazing fireplace… no doubt a bloody commentary on the Minister's fervent attempts to forge a common understanding between the magic and Muggle governments of Britain. All of the portraits had left only seconds before to see what was going on several floors away, where screams could be heard; thus, no one was left to testify against the murderer, not even the Minister of Magic, who had decided he'd had enough of the tiresome, violent, senseless world and did not remain behind as a ghost.

The source of the screaming, as many would recall later with a shudder, was the sound of at least twenty Muggle-born Ministry workers being tortured by as many Dark wizards and witches in black robes, all of whom wore masks that rendered their features unrecognisable. The aggressors laughed to each other as their victims writhed in pain and the rest of the office rushed about in a panic, attempting to escape themselves, terrified by the screaming, though not nearly as terrified as they were by the dead silence that rang through the floor, audible as sound itself, when all of the screaming stopped simultaneously.

Aeneas McGonagall, they said, had rushed to the scene of the commotion with all the haste he could muster, Alastor Moody snarling alongside him and a group of the Ministry's best Aurors close behind. They stormed through the crowd of fleeing Ministry employees, straight into the room where the Dark wizards were planning their next assault. As the door had slammed shut behind this intrepid crew, no one could say exactly what had happened; all that can be sure is that at least three of the Dark wizards escaped, and the only people left alive in the room when all was said and done were Moody (unconscious on the floor, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth), a young witch named Amelia Bones (unseeing, her limbs twitching weirdly), and Aeneas McGonagall (though in truth he was more dead than alive). The dead attackers, once unmasked, proved to be an array of continental foreigners and, to the shock of many, even some British – all from distinguished pureblood families, of course. Their Muggle-born victims were found to have suffered the effects of the Cruciatus Curse for sustained intervals of time before (almost mercifully) being put out of their misery.

Moody recovered quickly enough; despite internal wounds and damage to his knee that gave him a slight limp, he was up on his feet in days, cursing and swearing revenge as he paced about his room in St. Mungo's and shrugging off the attempts of the Healers to get him to lie still. Amelia Bones, likewise, was nearly recovered only a week after the Healers figured out how to relieve her from the hex that had set her limbs twitching so uncontrollably, like those of a beetle flipped on its back. According to her colleagues, she returned to her office as soon as she could and often sat at her desk for hours after everyone else had left. A photograph taken at the last Auror Christmas party stood on her desk, and more than once a colleague had stopped by to ask a question, only to turn away awkwardly at the sight of her staring desperatelyat the faces of the friends she had lost in the attack, silent tears rolling down her face.

But Aeneas McGonagall did not recover. Day after day, his family came to his room at St. Mungo's, sat by his bedside, trying and failing to elicit some response, any response. At first Alexia feigned cheeriness, told her husband about the daily news, or about Minerva's promotion to Head Girl at Hogwarts. Minerva, meanwhile, stood silently at her mother's side, her eyes never leaving the motionless face of her father, who glazed stare remained day after day at the ceiling, his breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. There was a terrible emptiness inside of her; she could not even will herself to cry, as if a door had closed within her and could never be reopened. Most days, she could not bear her mother's forced attempts at normalcy, not when her father was laid out before them like a living corpse, and she would flee to the hallway and lean against the wall, her eyes pressed closed, shaking uncontrollably, wishing she could fall into a deep, painless sleep from which she would wake to find that this was all a terrible, terrible nightmare and everything was as it had been. (But nothing was as it had been: London continued to be bombed, day in and day out, hospitals and homes, thieves and schoolchildren, indiscriminately.) More than once, she had peered back into the room to see her mother sobbing silently, pressing her father's limp hand to her lips where her reassuring kisses mingled with her salty tears, falsity seasoned with truth.

But these were moments not to be spoken of. Everything was to be internalised; all thoughts were uttered through motion, and the less noisy, the better.

And so it was with whispers that Minerva was met when she set foot again at Hogwarts, her new Head Girl badge pinned to her robes: hidden glances, sympathetic looks from most, indecipherable stares from select Slytherins. (Everyone knew about Aeneas McGonagall, the tragic hero; his name had been as prevalent in the papers for several weeks as that of a new name, a vaguely familiar name, 'Grindelwald.') She walked through the halls, immovable as stone, keenly aware of the whispers trailing behind her like a wave spreading on the beach. Professor Dumbledore greeted her with a nod, the usual merriment in his eyes snuffed out, and briefly touched her shoulder as she passed. She continued till she found Jeff in the Library, where she knew he'd be. He knew she would come, and gathered her into his arms as she slid into the chair next to his. Neither spoke, but there was no need; and there, in the stillness of the Library, safe in the embrace of the boy she loved, the tears finally welled up in Minerva's eyes and shuddered to the floor with her sobs.

* * *

But life must go on, and so it did at Hogwarts. Minerva had thought it would never be possible to love life again – not back home, where the cold marble of McGonagall Manor seemed suddenly so like a mausoleum, where her mother sat listlessly staring out the window for hours on end, her fingers unconsciously rubbing her wedding ring – but though it would be some time before she could laugh, she slowly learned to smile again. There were still times where she could not bear her own thoughts and threw herself relentlessly into her work, driving herself to an exhausted forgetfulness, but always her friends were there, respectfully sober around her but always ready to offer a smile. Her first night back, she had awoken to find a pot of white dwarf roses from Pomona on her bedstand, alongside several bars of Honeydukes' best chocolate from Augusta; and Jeff's presence was enough to calm her, his quiet understanding of what she had been through and his tacit reassurance that one could survive such losses. Gradually, shaking but resolute, her old self returned; and the first time she had enough vim to upset one of Augusta's complaints with a witty rejoinder, Augusta seemed not to know whether to be pleased or disgruntled, and ended up stammering for a moment before grinning and carrying on with her tirade.

'Thank goodness,' she sighed to Pomona as they left the Library half an hour later. 'I thought Minerva was never going to recover her old acerbic tongue.'

Pomona did not respond immediately, but instead looked thoughtfully ahead of her, stepping carefully out of the way of a passing student. 'I don't think one should ever underestimate Minerva's strength of character,' she said wisely to Augusta. 'I'm certain she could endure much worse, Merlin forbid she's ever put to the test. But I am glad to see she's slowly coming out of shock.'

A sudden draft swept through the corridor, flickering the torch on the wall, and both witches pulled their cloaks tighter around themselves. Pomona could not have been entirely sure, but it seemed to her as if the draft had somehow seeped through the wall and was racing along behind the stonework.

'Come on,' she shivered, 'it's freezing, let's get back to our common-rooms…'

Back in the Library, Minerva finished scribbling a final sentence onto the end of an essay and sat back, pushing a strand of hair out of her face.

'Thank you,' she said suddenly to Jeff without looking at him. Her hand found his, and he gave it a tight squeeze.

'You were there for me,' he reminded her gently. 'You still are. And… if you ever need to talk about anything, Minerva…'

'I know.' She glanced at him with a quick smile. 'I know.'

The two sat in silence for a few moments. It was towards the end of October, and the wind howled around the parapets of the castle weirdly. Finally, Minerva shook herself.

'Well, bed,' she said, as reasonably and normally as she could. Jeff nodded and kissed her gently on the forehead, and the two swept their books off the table into their respective bags, pushed their chairs in, and left the Library, Jeff's hand resting lightly on Minerva's shoulder.

But as they turned into the drafty corridor that Augusta and Pomona had vacated moments before, the pair stopped short in their tracks.

'Merlin,' whispered Minerva, her eyes widening.

A small figure was lying face down on the ground, her blonde hair splayed out around her head like a halo, the contents of her bag spilled out onto the floor around her. Jeff inhaled sharply, rushed forward, and carefully turned the prone body over.

'It's Poppy,' he said dully.

Poppy Pomfrey stared at the ceiling, eyes wide and horrified, her body frozen absolutely. Minerva flinched, horribly aware of how the Ravenclaw's vacant look mirrored that of her own father.

'What happened to her?' Jeff looked up at Minerva, his face contorting terribly as he tried not to cry. 'Who could have done this?' He grabbed Poppy's wrist, looked uncomprehendingly at the mirror clutched in her hand, at the hairbrush gripped in the other.

Minerva shook herself. 'I'm going to get someone.' Jeff gave a terse nod, and Minerva dashed down the halls, leaving him to guard his friend's body.

'Professor,' she shouted, knocking on Dumbledore's office door. 'Professor, are you there?'

The door opened almost instantly.

'Ah, Minerva.' Dumbledore smiled down at his student and was about to invite her in for a cup of tea when he noticed her rapid breathing and frantic expression. 'What's happened?' he asked, his voice dropping to a worried mutter.

'I… I don't know,' Minerva panted. 'We were walking from the Library, and Poppy… and Poppy Pomfrey…'

A shadow crossed the Transfiguration professor's brow, and without another word he and Minerva started down the hall as quickly as possible. Jeff leapt up immediately when he saw them approach, and Dumbledore quickly knelt down beside the body.

'Jeff, if you would go find Professor Merrythought as quickly as possible, I would be much obliged,' he said without looking at them. 'And Minerva, I need you to go to the Hospital Wing and find Madam Malus, and afterwards Professor Dippet.'

As Minerva ran to the Hospital Wing, tearing aside indignant tapestries as she went, her mind kept repeating the same questions over and over. Who in the castle could have done such a thing? And why target Poppy Pomfrey? Surely her friendship with Jeff couldn't have precipitated something _this_ serious, for this was very, very Dark magic, Minerva was sure of that… and none of her Slytherin enemies would be capable of such a thing, she was certain, not even Tom Riddle…

'Madam Malus,' she gasped, skidding to a halt in the Hospital Wing; the old witch glanced up from where she had been nonchalantly reading _Witch Weekly_ at her office desk. 'Professor Dumbledore… needs you… corridor near the Library… we can't figure out what's wrong…'

Madam Malus gave Minerva an alarmed look, but left without question, leaving Minerva to catch her breath as she leaned on the footboard of one of the beds. After a few moments, she shook herself, wiped her glasses, and raced off towards the Headmaster's Office.

'I need to see Professor Dippet,' she said to the gargoyle as soon as she reached it. 'It's urgent.'

The gargoyle yawned. 'Oh, it's _urgent_ , now, is it? Funny, I remember last time you came in here with that other boy, who said that _his_ business with the Headmaster was urgent, and that almost got poor Dumbledore fired, didn't it?'

'Well, I'm not Abraxas Malfoy, am I?' Minerva snapped back. 'Now, if you'd please just let me through…'

'But you're still a troublemaker, aren't you?' the gargoyle leered. 'Really, most students never even set foot in the Headmaster's Office during their time at Hogwarts, let alone more than once.'

'I'm Head Girl!'

'I don't care. That doesn't make you Headmaster.'

'This is a matter of life and death, damn it!' shouted Minerva.

'No password, no entrance,' said the gargoyle delicately.

Minerva whipped out her wand, trying to figure out what sort of hex would work best on stone, and was struck by a better idea.

'I hope the next Headmaster replaces you with a gargoyle that doesn't talk back,' she snarled at the gargoyle. ' _Expecto Patronum!_ '

'So I'm a Dementor now, am I?' The gargoyle chortled as it watched Minerva's owl Patronus solidify and land gracefully on her shoulder. 'Doesn't work on statues, dearie…'

'Professor Dippet, something's happened to a student, no one can figure out what, and Professor Dumbledore needs you to meet him in the corridor by the Library,' Minerva said calmly to her Patronus, ignoring the gargoyle's lecturing. With a nod of its silvery head, the owl burst from Minerva's shoulder with a powerful pump of its ethereal wings, and soared through the stone wall.

'Hey, _that's_ not allowed,' complained the gargoyle loudly. 'Bring it back, now.'

'No,' Minerva retorted angrily. Minutes later, the wall slid open to reveal a stricken-looking Dippet.

'Good heavens, Miss McGonagall,' he stammered. 'What… how…?'

'It was NOT my fault, Headmaster,' the gargoyle said loudly, 'I tried to prevent her from disturbing you, but…'

'I'll explain on the way, Headmaster,' Minerva said, glaring daggers at the whining gargoyle, whose complaining followed them down the hallway.

By the time Minerva and Professor Dippet had reached the corridor, a small crowd of concerned faculty and even a few students were standing around the body. Madam Malus was kneeling beside Poppy Pomfrey, examining her carefully. Professor Dippet uttered a curse under his breath and dashed forward to consult Dumbledore anxiously, and Minerva found Jeff, who was standing to the side of the crowd, stricken.

'I'm almost certain she's not dead, Armando,' Dumbledore said. 'I can't quite say what's happened to her, but there may be a way of reviving her. If we could convene a meeting of all the faculty with any knowledge of Dark magic as soon as possible…'

'Yes, yes,' bumbled Dippet, wringing his hands. 'Oh dear…'

'Albus, I think we should take her to the Hospital Wing as soon as possible,' interrupted Madam Malus. 'Unless you see any danger in moving her, that is.'

'Not at all, Arnemetia.' Dumbledore frowned. 'The sooner the better, in fact.'

Without further ado, Madam Malus lifted Poppy Pomfrey into the air with a flick of her wand, and the professors filed after the floating body in a macabre procession, Dippet still in deep consultation with his Deputy Headmaster.

'I'm walking you to your common-room,' Jeff said as the students around them dispersed.

'Don't worry about me, Jeff, there are other Gryffindors here with whom I can…'

'I don't care, I won't sleep well unless I know for certain that you're safe.'

Minerva was about to argue that Jeff was in just as much danger as she was, but at the look on Jeff's face, she sighed softly and nodded. The two walked solemnly behind the few Gryffindors who had happened across the scene, and whom were all clustered tightly together as they made their way back to their rooms.

As they passed a shadowy nook, Minerva heard a quiet laugh and jerked her head in fury towards the boy leaning serenely against the wall.

'Look at them all,' Riddle said, his cold eyes following the tight group of students retreating with all haste to safety. 'Scared out of their minds, the lot of them.'

'You're a monster,' Jeff snarled through gritted teeth. 'An absolute monster, to be _pleased_ with all this…'

'Oh, it could be worse, Cunningham.' Riddle smiled. 'She's still alive, isn't she? And that in itself is a stroke of good fortune, considering how easily death can come to any of us…'

Minerva wrenched her wand from her robes before she could think about what she was doing, but Jeff grabbed her arm and roughly pulled her away.

'Leave it,' he muttered, his face flushed in anger as he practically dragged Minerva down the hall.

'That's right,' Riddle laughed after them. 'Be your noble, pathetic selves and protect each other, while you still can…'

* * *

As the days grew shorter and darker, so too did the mood of the castle. Rumour had spread like wildfire amongst the students, and Madam Malus was forever trying to keep students from sneaking into the Hospital Wing to catch a glimpse of Poppy Pomfrey. Professor Dippet gave a terse speech that revealed nothing more than the rumours at breakfast the day after the attack, and students began to move in troupes by instinct, glancing warily about as they passed from class to class. Most notably, Professor Dumbledore was seen reading in the Restricted Section of the Library almost every evening, intently searching for some hint that would explain Poppy Pomfrey's condition.

Then the second attack occurred, this time a young Gryffindor boy, also Muggle-born, who was found stiff as a statue, his forehead leaning against a window in a hallway. The Quidditch season was cancelled – the professors thought it would be too dangerous for the teams to practice out on the dark pitch by themselves – and Dippet grew grayer and grayer by the day. Prefects and Head Boys and Girls were rendered all but obsolete; no one was brave enough to do anything terribly foolish any more. And despite the protective bubble that distance afforded Hogwarts, the war in the outside world seeped in subtly, in newspaper headlines and owls that left their receivers weeping.

But by now, Dumbledore had a word circled in one of the mildew-stained Restricted books, 'Petrification,' and soon the orders for Mandrakes began arriving by owl to the greenhouses. The knowledge of a potential cure lightened everyone's spirits slightly, though no one yet knew the cause of the symptom.

It was around the time of the third attack (on two young Hufflepuff girls who had been chatting by the sinks of a certain bathroom on the second floor) that the words 'Chamber of Secrets' were first heard circling about the castle. No one knew where the term had originated, nor did anyone seem to know precisely what they meant. Most of the teachers – in particular dreary old Professor Binns – shrugged the term off and continued to wait anxiously for the Mandrakes to mature; only Dumbledore seemed to take the term more seriously, though he seemed unaware as to how the fearful words would stop the attacks.

Curfews had become strict within the castle, and late-night studying was restricted to common-rooms only. Jeff always insisted on walking Minerva back to the entrance hole to the Gryffindor common-room (the Fat Lady had given up on scolding him that, as a Ravenclaw, he was not supposed to know where the Gryffindor common-room was in the first place) and left her there with a kiss and a promise to send a Patronus when he was safely back in the Ravenclaw common-room. Minerva could not decide whether she was more sorry or more relieved about these rules, for much as she missed seeing Jeff for more than mealtimes, she had not been able to pass by the Library without shuddering since the night that Poppy Pomfrey had been found.

It was the evening before the winter holidays began, and Minerva had just kissed Jeff good night outside of the portrait hole. As she entered the common-room, it was obvious that every Gryffindor was relieved to be going home for a few weeks, away from the horror that pervaded every aspect of Hogwarts. Yawning, Minerva climbed slowly up the steps to her bedroom, only to find her owl hooting softly on the bedpost.

'Hello, Aluco,' she said, stroking the tawny owl's head. He closed his eyes in content and then lifted his foot to allow Minerva to pull off her letter. She recognised immediately her mother's neat, thin script and, fingers shaking slightly, unrolled the scrap of parchment as she sat down on her bed. The next minute, she sprang to her feet, her heart beating fast.

'Thanks,' she said distractedly, giving her owl a final pat on the head before he hooted once and soared out the window towards the Owlery. 'Augusta? Augusta!'

Minerva rushed down the stone stairwell towards the common-room and nearly crashed into an elated Augusta running up the stairs towards Minerva.

'Blimey, Minerva, are you all right?' asked Augusta breathlessly. 'I was just coming to find you, I have to tell you something really important.'

'I was just coming to find _you_!' Minerva beamed. 'You first.'

'No, you.'

'My dad's started recovering,' Minerva explained with a grin. 'Slowly, but he's finally beginning to move his eyes towards people when they speak, and the Healers are hoping that eventually he'll be able to speak a little!'

'That's wonderful!' cried Augusta genuinely. 'Really, Minerva, I'm so glad to hear that.'

'Yes, well, now for your news!'

Augusta giggled and flushed dark red. 'Paul's just arrived – he's technically here on official Ministry business, but the Fat Lady let him in the portrait hole anyway – and, Minerva, he's just asked me to marry him!'

Minerva's jaw dropped. 'Really?'

'Yes! Only of course we'll have to make sure our parents approve, but they're all on excellent terms with each other, and it's not like they haven't seen this coming for years now…'

'Oh, Augusta!' Minerva laughed and hugged her friend. 'Congratulations! Have you decided when the wedding will be yet?'

'Merlin, no!' Augusta tried speak calmly, but the fact she could not stop bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet made it hard for her not to giggle as well. 'This only just happened minutes ago, Minerva – you're the first person I've told – so we haven't really decided on anything yet. But I'm quite sure we'll want to wait for the war and such to end first, and for Paul to get a bit higher up in his department, it'll be easier to settle down and start a family that way.'

'Oh. Yes. Of course.' Minerva glanced at Augusta, and the two started to laugh.

'I can't even remember the last time we were able to laugh like this!' Augusta choked.

'Just goes to show, a bloody war can't stop happiness in its tracks,' gasped Minerva. 'Well, are we going to do something to celebrate?'

'Without Pomona and Jeff?' Augusta shot Minerva a look of mock horror. 'We can wait till we see them after the holidays, surely.'

'You're not going to tell them till then?' Minerva wrinkled her nose, trying to determine exactly how she was going to keep Augusta's secret to herself.

'I suppose not,' said Augusta airily, 'though knowing you, I shouldn't be too surprised if you let something slip to Jeff…'

'Which reminds me…' Minerva quickly summoned her Patronus. 'Jeffrey Tomáš Cunningham, send me a Patronus soon so I don't have to worry you've been Petrified or whatever.' She sent the owl off through the wall and grabbed Augusta by the elbow. 'You at least have to have a butterbeer, you and Paul both, come on…'

Perhaps it was because good news came so seldom nowadays, perhaps it was the distraction of her friends' jubilation, perhaps it was the effects of the butterbeer – whatever it was, a sense akin to invincibility flowed over Minerva that evening so that, although she and Augusta and Paul stayed up talking till the wee hours of the morning, she remained unworried by the absence of a Patronus from Jeff. The thought that she hadn't received one from him crossed her mind briefly as she meandered up the stairs to her bed at three in the morning, but even then she dispelled her fears by reasoning that he'd probably gone to bed early and just forgotten. Thus, when a hand shook her awake a few hours after she'd gone to sleep, Minerva thought at first that it was part of a dream she was having.

'Minerva?'

Minerva blinked several times, and sat up when she noticed the moonlight glinting off the half-moon lenses of Professor Dumbledore's spectacles.

'What is it?' she whispered, pulling her blankets towards her as if they would defend her from the news she knew was coming.

'I think you should come with me,' said Dumbledore simply, as if aware that Minerva already knew. Without another word, Minerva slipped out of bed and followed Dumbledore down the stairs, out of the portrait hole, and through the corridors. Her heart was beating far too quickly, and her stomach seemed to have clenched in a way that made it difficult for her to process any thoughts clearly.

Finally, after what seemed like an impossibly long time, Dumbledore led Minerva into the trophy room, where even in the dark the trophies shone in the light from the window and from the single torch lit in a bracket on the wall. They were all already there – Professor Dippet, Madam Malus, Professor Slughorn gnawing anxiously on one finger, Professor Merrythought coming towards them with her face as grave as Minerva had ever seen it – and lying on the ground in the midst of the professors, his eyes wide in a mixture of terror and intense fascination, was Jeff.

Although Minerva had known that it was coming, she still felt the world begin to blur and tip around her, an odd rushing noise filling her ears as her mind began to float; Professor Merrythought caught Minerva by the arm as she slowly slumped into a faint, and lowered her to the floor.

'Poor thing,' she muttered, her voice cracked and haggard. Professor Dumbledore started forward with his wand to revive Minerva, and Professor Merrythought placed a restraining hand on his arm. 'Don't, Albus. Don't make her face it any sooner than she needs to.'

'Was I wrong to wake her?' Dumbledore mused, half to himself. 'I don't know if half of what I do nowadays is the right thing, Galatea.'

'None of us do.' Professor Merrythought sighed. 'In fact, I'm not even sure there _are_ such things as right or wrong any more. Otherwise, how could things like _this_ …' Her voice caught. 'He's only 18, Albus, and he's one of the brightest students I've ever had. He doesn't deserve to have that all taken away from him, and Minerva…'

'He'll recover,' said Dumbledore heavily. 'As soon as the Mandrakes are ready, he'll be fine.' In truth, Dumbledore hadn't yet read that the victims would be put completely back to normal – all his research had said was that 'the vyctim wille regaine ful usage of his Limbs and Facultyes,' but he wasn't going to tell Galatea that.

Minerva stirred and sat up unsteadily with a faint moan. 'Jeff…?'

'Shh,' Professor Merrythought said, kneeling down beside Minerva and placing her hands on Minerva's shoulders in case the girl fainted again. 'He'll be all right, Minerva; just lie still for now, dear, there's nothing you can do for him…'

Minerva closed her eyes quickly, but tears seeped out of the corners anyway. 'I didn't even get to tell him all the good news I got tonight,' she whispered, shaking her head.

'There'll be time for that later,' said Professor Merrythought gently, 'after the Mandrakes are full-grown and we can make the restorative draught.'

Minerva opened her eyes. 'Can I stay by him tonight?' she asked in a surprisingly calm voice.

Dumbledore opened his mouth to protest, but fell silent at a look from his colleague. 'Yes,' replied Professor Merrythought. 'I can't let you stay there alone, but Albus and I will be standing watch by the Hospital Wing, to make sure nothing else happens to Jeff and the others.' Minerva nodded her consent, and allowed Professor Merrythought to help her to her feet and escort her to the Hospital Wing, where Minerva sat holding one of Jeff's stiff hands in her own till she fell asleep in her chair as the sun cast a few weak rays through the window.

* * *

Riddle sat on the edge of the sink in the bathroom on the second floor, cursing to himself. A mouse scurried across the floor; Riddle zapped it with a bolt of light and it shot into its hole with a shriek. Thus far, he was certain that he'd had the worst luck of any wizard in history; four attacks, and not one of his victims actually killed. And he had so wanted to see Jeffrey Cunningham dead… of all attacks to fail…

Riddle slammed his hands violently against the glass mirror, which cracked slightly.

Never mind. He would see that Mudblood scum killed one day, even if the professors were all haunting the Hospital Wing day and night in shifts. The Mandrakes too were under close watch, so there was no way to sabotage the attempts to brew the restorative draught, even. But that did not matter. What with the war in full swing, Riddle was quite sure that there would be ample opportunities to kill Cunningham. Already, he had proven that he was capable of summoning one of the darkest monsters imaginable; surely that would win him the respect of Gellert Grindelwald, once he had learned everything he could from Hogwarts and leave it purer than when he arrived?

But he needed to prove that he was strong enough to kill. And that meant that he had to launch at least one successful attack, no matter how close an eye the professors were keeping on things. He would not stop until at least one student was dead by his hand, one filthy Mudblood whose very presence at Hogwarts desecrated its hallowed halls.

Riddle sniffed. At least a Petrified Cunningham was not one he'd have to put up with during his stay at Hogwarts over the Christmas holidays. And who knew, perhaps he'd lose his brilliance upon being revived by the Mandrakes, turn into some barely-functioning, slobbering shadow of what he had been; finally put into his place as a being with no blood claim to magic. Perhaps then McGonagall would see Cunningham for what he was, and the change would force her to acknowledge that his side – Riddle's side – was the strong one, the one worth joining. Riddle shook his head with a smirk; he knew he was being extravagant in his thoughts, that McGonagall would hate everything that Riddle had ever stood for till the day she died, but it was such a pleasant delusion, to imagine that she'd yield to him. What he wouldn't be able to do with that witch as his second in command…

But there was nothing more to be done for the moment. The students were all going home tomorrow, and he was quite sure that it would be impossible to launch another attack until the school had become a bit more lax in its security, falsely reassured by a few months free of threat. March, then, or maybe April. He would keep a close eye on Dumbledore in particular, wait until the wizard was distracted for the slightest instant by NEWTs or something else. Maybe the war would provide an opportunity. There was time yet. And Riddle was becoming quite adept at waiting for opportunity to arise, silent and subtle as a snake tensing for the correct second to strike.


	14. Blind Injustice

'GRINDELWALD MASSACRES DISSIDENT MAGES IN YUGOSLAVIA, GREECE; DEATH TOLL REACHES 700'

Albus Dumbledore threw down the newspaper with an angry sigh and rubbed his eyes beneath his half-moon glasses. With every new headline in the _Daily Prophet_ , he felt a new burden fall heavily upon his shoulders, and it was only a matter of time before the weight of these woes became simply unbearable. He knew he had to do something, anything, to stop all of this, but he knew that the war could end in no way other than a confrontation between himself and Gellert, a confrontation that could end in no other way than the death of one or the other. And as fervently as Albus wished for a prompt cessation of the killing, he knew he would not be able to kill Gellert. He could not. Not a day went by when he did not think of their youth together, and whatever Gellert might have become in the years since their separation, Albus would never be able to separate him from the dashing, rash, charming boy he had known. How could he kill a part of himself?

Some nights, Albus wished he could end his misery in the simplest way possible.

But he couldn't do that either. Too many people were counting on him; just yesterday, Galatea had told him that she would have lost hope long ago if not for the reassurance she received upon knowing that he, Albus, was still alive and there to defend the castle from whatever evils lurked outside. (Neither of them mentioned the evils that lurked inside Hogwarts, almost as if any mention of the menace would jog it to life again; and after the three months of agonized peace within the school, such a risk was something none of the professors were willing to take.)

A sharp knock on the door jarred Albus from his reverie. He had not slept a full night in months; the fatigue was obviously getting to him.

'Come in,' he said wearily, and the door opened to admit Tom Marvolo Riddle.

'You wished to speak with me, sir,' said the boy politely, seating himself across from the professor.

'I do.' Albus folded his hands and looked intently at Riddle's face. It felt like only yesterday that he had first encountered the unnervingly cold child in the London orphanage, yet the being meeting his gaze now had grown, both in size and in power; while then, Albus had seen the fear flickering in the boy's eyes, now each of Riddle's eyes seemed like a metal door that slammed tightly shut the instant Albus's own eyes met them.

'Well?'

'Sit down, Tom,' said Albus heaving, gesturing to the chair across the desk with one hand. Tom hesitated a moment, then slowly lowered himself into the chair, never moving his gaze from his professor as he did so. 'How have you been?'

Riddle tried to keep his face from registering surprise at such a casual question, but he checked it a second too late for Albus to miss it. 'Fine, Professor,' he replied smoothly. 'Why do you ask?'

Albus raised his eyebrows slightly. 'Given the current state of affairs at Hogwarts, I think the question is reasonably apropos.'

'I never said it was not, sir.'

'Tom,' said Dumbledore seriously. 'I daresay you realise how absurdly lucky we've been. It's only a matter of time before someone is killed.'

Riddle's face remained impassable, but his hand passed unconsciously over an elegant signet ring which he now wore on his finger.

'And?'

'Not without reason has it been noted that all of the victims have been Muggle-born,' Albus continued, folding his hands. 'Tom, as your professors, it is our duty to ensure the safety of every student at Hogwarts. We cannot know if this agenda is limited to those of Muggle-born parents, or if it will extend to those of mixed blood.'

Riddle's face tautened and his jaw tensed. 'And why does this concern me?'

'I know you never met your parents,' Albus said, empathetically and yet as delicately as he could, 'but I should tell you that a Mr Tom Riddle and his parents – Muggles, all three – were found murdered in their home last summer.'

Riddle registered no emotion, but his eyes followed Dumbledore's glance carefully as the Transfiguration professor's own gaze darted rapidly to the ring on Riddle's hand, and then back.

'I see,' he said. 'But this is all supposition, I assume, Proffesor?'

'Indeed. But, Tom, if these attacks persist, I fear that Hogwarts will no longer be safe for anyone – Muggle-born and so-called "pureblood" alike. Please,' said Albus, rising to his feet to indicate that the meeting had drawn to a close, 'keep a sharp eye about you, and do tell me if anything comes to your attention?'

'Of course, sir,' said Riddle smoothly, his lips curling into a slight smile.

When the boy had departed, Albus sank back into his chair with a wearied exhale. It was not in his nature to suspect people before given reasonable cause, but Riddle made him more uneasy than anyone he had ever met; it was more difficult to read the boy than even Gellert, and the brash arrogance and brilliance the two shared worried Albus more than he would ever admit to another living soul.

'Innocent till proven guilty, Tom,' muttered Albus finally, crumpling the _Prophet_ and tossing it into the dying embers of his office fire.

* * *

The rains of March had swept through Hogwarts and left the birches around the lake weeping dainty crystal drops for weeks at a time; the flowers of April had erupted into full bloom in a bright array of colours, and still the Mandrakes were not yet fully matured. Pomona had been taken on as a full-time aide at the greenhouses, and was rarely seen any more without dirt beneath her fingernails and a pair of fuzzy earmuffs on her head or dangling round her neck. Despite her struggles with Herbology, Minerva too was determined to help in whatever ways possible; many a night she was seen carrying trays of sandwiches to the greenhouses for those who were transferring the Mandrakes to larger pots.

More often, Minerva could be found in a certain corner of the Hospital Wing, which she visited every evening. Though not naturally prone to excessive displays of sentiment, upon occasion Minerva felt compelled to lean her head close to Jeff's and tell him about everything that was happening around the castle – any new gossip, interesting stories, even things as mundane as how classes and NEWT preparation were progressing; she knew it was pointless, that speaking to someone so clearly comatose was bound to leave few impressions, and yet treating Jeff as though he was fully capable of comprehending her maintained Minerva's hope that the Mandrakes would perform as expected and restore him to himself.

'I don't know what to think about her any more,' Augusta commented in an undertone to Pomona one day in early May as they left lunch together. 'I mean, we all took it hard, but even more so for Minerva, understandably…' (There was no need for Augusta to specify what she was talking about.)

'I know,' replied Pomona. 'I worry about her an awful lot. Look at her, her entire life has turned into studying for NEWTs and waiting for the Mandrakes to mature.'

'She barely eats, she barely sleeps, her personality's lost all its fire.' Augusta sniffed bitterly and swung her bag rather violently over her shoulder, as if her fury could restore life to how it had been. 'I thought things couldn't get much worse after her father, and now… Merlin, Pomona, don't think badly of me, but sometimes I feel so _angry_. It's ridiculously difficult for me feel any happiness for myself and Paul, what with all this going on.'

Pomona said nothing. Augusta glanced at her, and burst into tears.

'You think I'm a terrible person, don't you?' she sobbed. 'I'm not, Pomona, I'm really not! I just want everyone to be happy, because then I wouldn't feel so bloody awful about being in love and being so happy about it.'

'I don't blame you in the slightest,' said Pomona quietly. 'It must be lovely to have someone to love like that.'

Augusta opened her mouth to continue, but then she saw the look on Pomona's face. 'Pomona! Oh, Pomona, are you all right?'

'Yes, quite.' Pomona attempted to smile, but the corners of her mouth faltered and drooped trembling. 'It's just… seeing you and Paul together, and… Minerva… well, I just feel rather lonely sometimes.' A single tear squeezed itself from the corner of Pomona's eye and meandered mournfully down one cheek.

Augusta's jaw dropped slightly, and she put a reassuring arm around Pomona. 'Is it something you want to talk about?'

Pomona shrugged one shoulder, muffling her emotions with a fist pressed tightly to her closed mouth. Augusta sat Pomona down on the lawns just above the greenhouses and took a seat next to her.

'Is there anyone in particular?' she asked tentatively.

Pomona looked as if she was going to answer, but then buried her head further into her hands. 'I don't know… no. I can't talk about it.'

Augusta put a hand on Pomona's shoulder and gave her a few moments to sort out her feelings.

'Yes,' sniffled Pomona finally. 'Yes, but this can't be shared with anyone, Augusta. No-one else can know. Promise?'

Augusta nodded solemnly. Pomona smiled weakly, opened her mouth, closed it, gulped down another sob.

'He's already involved with someone else?' guessed Augusta sympathetically. Pomona hesitated a moment, as if about to speak, then simply nodded. 'Oh, no. Well, maybe things will work out for you.'

'Oh, don't be silly, Augusta,' said Pomona glumly, rolling a twig between her fingers and not looking at her friend. 'There's no chance on earth. You've seen them together as often as I – that is, before… all this began.'

Augusta's eyes widened. 'You don't mean…?'

Pomona bobbed her head jerkily once.

'Poor dear,' sighed Augusta, her hand dropping from Pomona's arm.

'Don't misunderstand me, Augusta,' said Pomona thickly through her tears. 'I want them to be happy, of course I do. But sometimes I feel so alone when we're all together… when we _were_ all together… Merlin, I can't talk about it.'

The two sat side by side for a time together, neither speaking.

'If I could do anything to help you,' Augusta began.

'No,' said Pomona firmly. She laughed a bit, a shaky laugh void of joy. 'Goodness, no. I accepted things for the way they are, a long time ago, and I couldn't be so selfish as to wish to destroy their happiness for my own sake. But what a pity it has to be one of my best friends! I don't even have the luxury of avoiding the situation.'

'Yes, well…' Augusta smiled encouragingly at Pomona. 'I'm sure there's someone else out there for you, Pomona. You've got such a lovely personality, and you're the best friend anyone could have. He just hasn't found you yet.'

'Perhaps.' Pomona sighed and glanced towards the greenhouses. 'Well, I'd best be off. I'm so sorry for troubling you with all this, Augusta.'

'Not at all,' replied Augusta with absolutely sincerity.

'And you won't say a word of what I've just spoken to Minerva?'

'Of course not,' said Augusta, taking Pomona's hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze

Pomona nodded gratefully and pushed herself to her feet with a slight sniffle. Augusta remained seated as she watched her friend depart, and felt an acute stab of pity upon seeing Pomona wiping her cheeks with her dirt-crusted sleeve.

'Everything all right?' Minerva's voice asked from behind Augusta.

'Yes,' responded Augusta firmly as she turned from Pomona's retreating figure. 'Of course.'

* * *

Undoubtedly, Abraxas Malfoy and Orion Black had meant it merely as a cruel joke, but that didn't mean that Riddle couldn't be furious with them for their sheer brashness and stupidity.

'If Dumbledore had caught you,' he hissed, causing both of the older boys to flinch (whether from the proposed scenario or from the speaker, it was difficult to tell).

'I'm sorry, my Lord,' muttered Orion, watching the ground carefully. 'But how were we to know that any of the faculty would recognise the signs…?'

'Have you never seen Dumbledore marching about with a Muggle newspaper under his arm?' snarled Riddle, his eyes flashing dangerously. 'The Ministry itself depends on his word for interspecies relations, including communications with Muggle heads of state. Air-headed as he may appear, the man is no idiot, Black, and by Merlin, he is well aware of current events in both our world and the other.'

'No one would ever expect our fathers to know about such things, let alone be able to procure them; and no one _saw_ us put them there, anyway,' Abraxas argued back under his breath. A second later, he regretted it; in a flash, Riddle's wand was pointed squarely between his eyes.

'You told me not two minutes ago,' seethed Riddle menacingly, 'that Madam Malus gave you permission to enter the Hospital Wing; that you were the only ones there; and that the only reason you did not inflict any bodily damage on that Petrified Mudblood filth was because you feared accusation through _circumstantial evidence_. Your imbecility, Malfoy, never ceases to astound me.'

Abraxas bit his lip hard, willing himself not to whimper in fear – he had seen his master torture others before. He was therefore completely unsurprised when his legs gave way beneath him in shocked relief the second Riddle had flicked the tip of his wand idly away from its target.

'Fortunately for you two, I foresee certain troubles arising from this situation, namely because of McGonagall's ever-so-touching righteous ire.' Riddle smirked. 'And if it comes to blows, as I suspect it shall, I'll want you two for my seconds, rather than Umbridge. But, mind you, if anything should go awry, you will be punished in ways that even I shudder to contemplate. Do I make myself clear?'

His followers needed no second bidding, but quickly fell to the cold flagstones, muttering their gratitude. Riddle sniffed coldly and twitched the hems of his robes from their servile fingers as he brushed arrogantly past them. He had larger matters at hand tonight.

For Malfoy and Black's actions had indeed incited a spark of rage in Minerva. When she had entered the Hospital Wing that morning, on her customary visit to the bedside of the inert Jeff before classes, she drew in a sharp breath to see Professor Dumbledore in serious discussion with Madam Malus by the foot of the bed.

'Nothing to worry about, Miss McGonagall,' snapped Madam Malus as Minerva drew near with a face paled by dread. 'An immature prank, no bodily damage done…'

'Arnemetia, I do not think you understand the full implication of this so-called prank,' replied Dumbledore in a calm voice that could not conceal a frighteningly obvious rage. 'These are not mere mementos from the Muggle world's war; these are an attempt to brand Mr Cunningham as a worthless "other," and to not acknowledge the wrongness of the act would be an absolute offence to humanity.'

Minerva moved carefully around to Jeff, where he lay as he always did, open eyes staring eerily in confusion. Months of resignation had stilled the lurch in her stomach that had so often accompanied the sight of his motionless figure early on, but today, as she ascertained that his distressing state had not worsened in any manner, she could nonetheless feel her heartbeat slow to its normal rate. It was only then that she noticed the objects under scrutiny: a yellow star with six points stuck to Jeff's shirt; and, spread over his blanket, a red flag whose centre contained a sort of odd black pinwheel circumscribed by a white circle.

'Are you accusing me of bigotry, Albus?' Madam Malus demanded. 'People leave their friends presents all the time, and I had no idea that these were anything other than mere get-well-soon gifts!'

Dumbledore shook his head. 'And that is exactly the problem, Arnemetia. You – and, to be fair, most of the wizarding world – cannot begin to imagine the horror that these symbols hold for so many across Europe.'

'But they're _symbols_ , Albus,' Madam Malus sniffed. 'They don't actually harm anyone physically, and any harm they cause is due to whatever significance _you_ give them. _My_ job is to heal those who are physically unwell, and goodness knows I have plenty to do on that count without any other imagined damages being inflicted.'

'I understand,' sighed Dumbledore, giving up on the meaning of his lesson. 'May I remove these?'

'By all means,' replied Madam Malus curtly. 'And if I remember who came into the ward just before I discovered them, I'll be sure to let you know.'

Dumbledore nodded courteously, and waited for the Healer to retreat to her office before the aura of anger flared about him again. With a forceful flick of his wand, the flag furled itself up and flung itself unceremoniously into a nearby dustbin.

'If you wouldn't mind, Minerva,' he said calmly, gesturing towards Minerva's hand, which had fallen onto Jeff's chest near the yellow star. She carefully removed the shoddily-cast Sticking Charm, and glanced at the star briefly before she handed it to her professor. The word _Jude_ could be seen in faded black ink in the centre of the star, but underneath this, someone had much more recently scrawled the words _Arbeit macht frei_. (Years later, when she had done her utmost to press the memory of the war's bloodshed from her mind, Minerva would still awake in the dead of night remembering the next time she would see those words, and how little they had meant to her at this moment of relative innocence.)

Dumbledore Banished the star to the same fate as the flag, stood contemplating the Petrified boy before him with an indecipherable expression, and then made his way from the Hospital Wing. Minerva instinctually guessed she was meant to follow; and so, squeezing Jeff's rigid hand slightly and swiftly brushing her lips against his perpetually furrowed brow, she hurried after her professor.

'I'm very sorry you had to be put through that, Minerva,' said Professor Dumbledore as they swept through the hallways. 'Perhaps Madam Malus is right; perhaps I shouldn't assign so much fear to signifiers and symbols; but my compassion for those who live with that constant fear always seems to get the better of me. I shall have to work at that.' He smiled grimly.

'What does it all mean?' Minerva asked, realising vaguely that she would likely be late to Charms, and not really caring. She remembered Jeff saying something, an eternity ago, about the Nazis singling the Jews out by branding their clothes with yellow stars; she could only assume that the flag was that of the oft-mentioned Third Reich.

Dumbledore paused for a moment, almost off-balance, a pained expression contorting his face.

'It means that the parents of at least one student at this school have willingly joined forces with… with the Dark mages across the Channel,' he said finally with unconcealed bitterness. 'I suppose they find it funny, to toss about so carelessly the spoils of the sufferings their Muggle counterparts wreak upon the citizens of tormented nations…'

Minerva had often heard people say that one saw red when enraged, but she had never experienced the sensation personally till now. Echoing through her head were words that she had once heard her own cousin, Orion Black, sneer with a smirk: _My father thinks they're going about things the right way in Germany and Austria…_

'Minerva?' called Dumbledore as Minerva sprinted off down the hall. He shook his head, hoping (and doubting) that she wouldn't do anything too brash.

* * *

Abraxas Malfoy and Orion Black were outside the empty Charms classroom, sniggering at a story Umbridge was telling them about hexing first-year Hufflepuffs from behind a tapestry on the fourth floor, when the latter found himself slammed violently against the uneven stones of the corridor wall, a wand digging painfully into his Adam's apple.

'What the…' he spluttered, his eyes widening considerably and crossing to keep his cousin's face in focus as she leaned forward menacingly.

'Shut up this instant, Orion, or I will personally wrench your tongue out of your head,' snarled Minerva, jabbing her wand a bit further into Orion's convulsing neck. Umbridge's eyes were practically bulging out of her head, Malfoy's jaw hung slightly open in shock; the scene would have been funny if Minerva hadn't been so livid.

'What are you on about?' gasped Orion.

'Don't think you can fool me by playing innocent, _any_ of you,' Minerva snapped, whipping around to accuse the by-standers (Orion slumped back against the wall in relief the instant Minerva's wand was removed from his throat). 'I'm sure you think it's wonderful fun to mock the helpless, and gloat over it when they can't respond, and you're all _sick_ to find it at all amusing when people are being reduced to the status of animals out there for something they can't at all control, and…'

'Oh, please,' smirked Abraxas, regaining some of his swagger now that the shock of Minerva's ire had ebbed. 'Did a little flag really make you that angry, McGonagall? Just because it's flying outside the gates of the ghettos where all your pathetic little friends are being kept in their proper place?' His laugh was cut short when Minerva's hex hit him full in the stomach and he crashed to the ground, bound in tightly-wound ropes.

'Ooh, if _that's_ how you want to play, McGonagall,' sneered Umbridge, pulling out her own wand as Orion peeled himself off the wall to join her with a leer. Minerva bared her teeth in a grimace of rage, brandished her wand a second before her opponents did the same, and felt a leap of excitement as a suit of armour next to the door of the Charms classroom creaked to life and seized Orion under one arm and Umbridge under the other.

'Let me show you how it feels to be the weaker party for once, why don't I?' hissed Minerva, raising her wand, and then…'

'Stop.'

Minerva's heart began to pound even faster as she glanced back over her shoulder to see Tom Marvolo Riddle standing at the entrance to the corridor, his wand pointed steadily at Minerva.

'What do you want?' she snapped.

Riddle raised an eyebrow. 'Let's make this a even fight, please,' he said suavely. 'You and I both know that Orion and Dolores are, er, utterly unable to challenge you with anything remotely interesting; so if you _must_ duel someone, McGonagall, why don't you turn around and leave where they are? No seconds for either of us – fair enough?'

Minerva knew that she should ignore Riddle, that he did indeed pose a threat greater than her three vanquished adversaries combined, but anger and frustration had blinded her judgement.

'I would like nothing better,' she replied savagely, turning slowly and raising her wand. A long moment passed between the two, and then, without warning, Riddle sent a curse at her that she barely ducked in time.

Professor Merrythought had been thorough in her instruction of the basic defensive and offensive curses, but never before had Minerva needed to put them into practice at such a rapid pace: dodging, blocking, attacking, racing up the hallways after Riddle's taunting laugh. In the few seconds where her mind was not clouded by rage, she realised that she was more excited than she had been in months, the rush of combat surging through her veins – she was not a violent person by nature, but this, this feeling of power, was sheer intoxication…

She dashed up a steep spiral staircase after Riddle, gasping for breath but undeterred, and burst onto the roof of the Astronomy Tower, where Riddle was waiting. Minerva could see that he, too, was winded, but the gleam of his eyes was as brilliant as ever.

'My my, but you must really hate me, to have climbed all those stairs after me,' he sneered breathlessly. 'And look, now we really are all alone, in a part of the castle that no-one ever visits by day… I daresay _anything_ could happen up here, couldn't it?'

Minerva deflected a jinx thrown at her, her nostrils flared angrily. 'You're behind them, aren't you,' she panted. 'The attacks, I know you are. How are you doing it?'

Riddle smirked. 'And even if I was behind the attacks, how would you prove it to the rest of the world?'

'What did you do to them?' Minerva insisted. Flashes of light dashed themselves against the stone of the tower as the duellers circled, attacked, eyes locked, jaws set.

'Persistent, aren't you?' Riddle flicked his wand idly, deciding how much to give away. 'Tell me, McGonagall, have you ever heard of the Chamber of Secrets?'

But Riddle's moment of inattentiveness had cost him; Minerva's next hex slammed him violently against the wall of the tower, and he gritted his teeth to keep from crying out in pain as he slumped to the ground.

' _Expelliarmus_ ,' spat Minerva, stepping forward to catch Riddle's wand as it flew towards her. 'You're pathetic, Riddle. The Mandrakes will be ready in two days, and then it'll be like nothing ever happened… all your hard work to stamp out "impurities," and none of it will last.'

'There's much more to be done,' gasped Riddle, glaring up at her. 'This is only the beginning, McGonagall, and I assure you that one day, when I've made my name a permanent and prominent fixture in history, you'll regret not having joined my side when you had the chance.'

'Bold words, considering I've just won the duel,' said Minerva scornfully.

Riddle cocked his head challengingly.

'Have you?' he asked, and with a deft move, he kicked Minerva's leg out from under her, causing her to crash unsteadily down to her knees.

'You cheated,' she hissed, scrambling to snatch up her wand.

'All's fair in love and war,' Riddle quipped, seizing both wand and pointing Minerva's directly at its owner's face.

'Are you going to Petrify me too, now?' Minerva challenged him, her voice dangerously calm though her eyes flashed.

'Well, that depends.' Riddle rose to his feet pensively. 'The principle was to target only Mudbloods; but then again, you're such a Mudblood lover that you practically _are_ one of them, and I suspect your children will be far from pure-blooded, which is disgraceful.' Riddle frowned slightly. 'Oh no, I don't think I'd want to ruin their expectations, not with you. But that doesn't mean I can't amuse myself in other ways.'

Before Minerva knew what was happening, Riddle had cried, ' _Crucio!_ ' and she was writhing on the ground, screaming, forgetting everything she had ever known except her consuming hatred for Riddle, the one who was putting her through this unbearable pain…

'I gave you enough warnings, McGonagall,' said Riddle carelessly, lifting the wand and leaving Minerva gasping on the flagstones. 'And you wouldn't listen and wouldn't listen, even when I _told_ you there'd be a price to pay, for both you and your precious little Mudblood pet.'

'You leave him out of this,' whispered Minerva with as much force as she could muster.

'Bold words, considering I've just won the duel,' mocked Riddle. He aimed the wand again at Minerva, and smirked in satisfaction when he saw her flinch. 'Apparently, even wild kelpies can be tamed with enough persuasion.'

Minerva pushed herself up by her forearms, intending to retort, but she began to shake so violently that it was all she could do to continue propping herself off the ground in silent concentration.

' _Excellent_ work, Miss McGonagall,' sneered Riddle in imitation of Professor Dumbledore. 'You're learning your lessons quicker and quicker now, aren't you?'

'Give me back my wand,' she replied softly.

'Oh, I'm not done with you yet, McGonagall. And, by the way, no professor will believe you if you tell them about anything that's happened up here. The Cruciatus Curse, as you know, leaves no physical damage, and as you've undoubtedly noticed, the casting of the curse cannot be traced back to _my_ wand…'

'You're evil,' snarled Minerva, finding her way to her feet with the wall for support. 'You're absolutely evil.'

'Now, now, McGonagall…' Riddle leered at her. 'Can't we just kiss and make up over this whole unfortunate misunderstanding? Before you go back downstairs to your Mudblood filth, let's finish this on a friendly note.'

Minerva replied by spitting in Riddle's face. Riddle slowly drew his sleeve across his cheek, then seized Minerva by the wrists and shoved her against the wall, crushing his mouth against hers violently as Minerva protested weakly. After a moment, he released her, dropping Minerva's wand unceremoniously before her feet.

'I'm more powerful than you think, McGonagall,' he said softly. 'Whatever you may think, I _will_ leave my mark on the world. And once you see what I'm fully capable of doing, you'll be ever so sorry I don't give people second chances.'

With that, Riddle swept to the stairwell and moved out of sight with steady, brisk steps that echoed up into the tower to where Minerva sagged against the wall, tears of humiliation and rage coursing silently down her cheeks.

* * *

Minerva's only class that day – Potions – was long over by the time Minerva descended slowly down the stairs of the Astronomy Tower, her physical strength long since fully-recovered but her pride shattered. It was around lunchtime, and the corridors were mostly empty; instead of moving towards the Great Hall, Minerva headed back towards the Gryffindor common room, staving off tears by imagining several placating scenarios in which she eviscerated Tom Riddle. Feeling ever so slightly cheered by this, she entered in a bathroom on the second floor to wash her face, and frowned as she heard a taunting voice.

'Ugly, pimply Myrtle! Ugly, pimply Myrtle! What, can't see without these, four-eyes?'

A jeering girl was dangling a pair of spectacles before her homely and clearly myopic peer, who was crying with rage much more audibly than Minerva had an hour before.

'Give them back, Olive!' she raved, swiping the air far off the mark as she squinted to make sense of the bathroom's interior.

'Ooh, Myrtle! What if I flushed them, eh? Would you dive into the toilet after them?' Olive rushed into a stall and dropped Myrtle's glasses into the toilet, placing her hand on the flusher as she did so. 'Come and get them, Myrtle! And please don't drown when you're going after them, I'd be _ever_ so sad…'

'What,' snapped Minerva, her eyes flashing behind her own spectacles, 'is going on?'

Myrtle's tormenter whipped her head towards Minerva, her expression akin to a deer caught in the headlines of an oncoming car. 'Oh, damn it…'

'Hornby, isn't it?' Minerva stared down at the girl, who cowered further back into the stall. 'Fifty points from Ravenclaw, and I'll be speaking to Professor Merrythought about your disgraceful conduct. Do I make myself clear?'

Olive Hornby nodded jerkily.

'Good. Now say you're sorry, and get out of here.'

Olive shot Myrtle a nasty glance, and dashed out of the bathroom without a word to Myrtle. Minerva sighed and turned to the recent victim.

'Are you all right?' she asked wearily. Myrtle's lower lip trembled as her eyes filled with tears, and she rushed into the stall that Olive Hornby had just vacated, slamming the door behind her. As Minerva washed her face with a sinking feeling in her stomach (the memories of her own humiliation returning with Myrtle's immediate peril over), she tried to ignore the sounds of Myrtle sobbing as she fished her glasses out of the toilet.

* * *

When Augusta entered the dormitory an hour later, Minerva was lying listlessly on her bed, feeling utterly empty inside.

'Minerva?'

'Yes, I know I missed Potions today, Augusta,' said Minerva wearily, 'but please, don't tease me about it, I'll explain why eventually…'

'Minerva,' Augusta repeated.

'I just keep thinking that in a few days, life will be back to normal, like this was all a bad dream, won't it?' Minerva rolled over onto her side and froze as she caught sight of her friend's face.

'What's happened?' she asked, sitting up.

Augusta looked down at the ground and started to cry.

'I just thought you should know, there was another attack,' she wept. 'A little girl with glasses in a bathroom downstairs, I think they said her name was Marty, or Mary…'

It was as if Minerva's insides had been replaced by icy water. 'Myrtle.'

Augusta nodded.

'Well, Augusta, think of it this way,' Minerva said, trying to be rational but sensing that something was terribly wrong. 'The Mandrakes will be ready in only two days, and then Myrtle will be revived, and all will be well…'

Augusta shook her head violently.

'Not this time,' she said bitterly. 'Myrtle's never going to be revived, Minerva. She's dead.'


	15. Awakening

Tom Riddle twisted the tap of the faucet in the girl's bathroom, grimacing slightly at the drawn-out rasp of metal upon metal, rubbing one finger over the rough surface of the snake carved into its side. The porcelain sink was cool under the palm of his other hand, and as he took a step backwards, all he could hear was an empty drip, drip, drip.

It had been just over 24 hours since the girl had died. Tom congratulated himself on his success, but the smug pleasure had been fleeting; conquest had been so _easy_ , once the timing had fallen into place. It really didn't amount to anything; if he had reason at all to celebrate, it was the fact that everyone, even the great and powerful Albus Dumbledore, was frightened out of their minds.

But it wasn't safe to attempt anything further. He had won one game and lost the others; the Mudblood girl was dead, but McGonagall hadn't been impressed or intimidated into joining him, and all the rest of the Mudbloods would be put right this evening. It had been an amusing little experiment, but Tom was bored. There were bigger fish to fry out in the world, and he was eager to find himself amongst them.

With a sigh, he tapped the faucet thrice with the tip of his wand. " _Seal_ ," he ordered under his breath, and in a brief flash of light, he knew the deed was done. Tom shoved his wand carelessly back into his robes, turned on his heel, and had one hand on the doorknob of the bathroom when he heard a loud sniff.

Heart racing, Tom whipped about, his wand in his hand before he could even survey the bathroom. A dull sobbing was issuing from one of the toilet stalls, and, as he watched, a puddle of water seeped slowly from the source of the noise across the tiled floor.

'Who is it?' moaned the ghost from her stall, and she stuck her tear-streaked and matterless face through the door of the stall. But by then, Tom had slipped quickly out the door, and the only sound remaining in the bathroom was the quiet dripping of the faucet.

* * *

Pomona ran a dirty hand across her brow and sighed slowly as she observed the rows of barrel-sized pots on the table before her, each displaying a mottled tuft of leaves sprouting from the soil. The other top Herbology seventh-years had left hours ago, but by all accounts the Mandrakes had reached full maturity, and Pomona was not going to let anything happen to them in the time it took Slughorn to lug a cauldron and the other potions ingredients down from the castle.

With her earmuffs on, it took a while for Pomona to notice Professor Dumbledore waving to her from the other side of the greenhouse's glass walls. Confused, Pomona manoeuvred around the table so as not to disturb the pots, made sure to close the greenhouse door behind her, and tugged the earmuffs to down around her neck.

'Hello, Professor,' she said, stifling a yawn.

'Miss Sprout, I think you've done your share of guarding the Mandrakes,' replied Albus graciously. 'If you're tired, by all means go to sleep, and I will wait for Professor Slughorn to arrive.'

'Thanks, but I can wait a little longer,' insisted Pomona. Something about having Professor Dumbledore there made her relax automatically, so that the weariness she had been fighting for the past two hours suddenly enveloped her in a drowsy embrace.

Albus nodded understandingly, and without speaking, the two sat down upon a stone bench against the greenhouse wall, their shadows stretching across the darkened lawn, away from the dim light emanating from the greenhouse's interior. The spring evening was pleasantly warm, with only a touch of breeze stirring the grass and bright stars shivering overhead.

'How long does the restorative draught need to revive a patient?' asked Pomona finally.

Albus blinked. 'You know, I have no idea,' he responded lightly. 'I suppose we shall see soon enough.'

'Yes.' Pomona's brow furrowed slightly. 'And it will work, won't it, Professor?'

Albus sighed and, although not prone to nervous habits, twined the end of his long auburn beard around the end of one finger, and then unwrapped it.

'I certainly hope so, Pomona,' he said softly. 'I cannot make any promises – this is far beyond anything I've ever come across before – but I hope so.'

Pomona nodded tersely, but Albus noticed that her fingers gripped the edge of the stone bench a bit more tightly. The silence stretched between them once more, each lost in thought, with only the chirrups of crickets and frogs and the lap of the lake punctuating the darkness.

'Why...?' Pomona said suddenly, and then stopped, unsure of what she was even trying to ask. To Albus's surprise, he understood perfectly what she was meant.

'You must realise how extremely lucky you are, Pomona, to have such a loyal and trusting group of friends as you do. Some people don't see much to live for other than power, and the only way they can derive any pleasure from life is through proving that they can manipulate others.' Unbidden, the memory of a small boy with a closet full of stolen trinkets and an unforgiving stare leapt to the forefront of Albus's mind, and although the night was temperate, he shuddered slightly.

Pomona sighed and leaned back against the glass wall of the greenhouse. Behind her, the mandrakes were beginning to writhe in their pots, causing the tufts of leaves sprouting from the soil to quiver violently.

'Perhaps it sounds silly, Professor, but I don't think I'll ever be able to understand the reason for the war, and the irrational hatred, and all of this rubbish.' She smiled ruefully. 'Does that make me idealistic, or merely foolish?'

Albus opened his mouth, decided it best not to speak when without an answer, and closed it. Pomona made no visible sign that she had noticed her professor's lack of response, but without a word from him, she knew that Dumbledore had no more answers than she.

_It all comes to some sort of closure tonight_ , he thought, _either the students will recover and we'll have a stronger position from which to argue, or else they don't, and the Ministry makes good on its word and closes Hogwarts forever..._

'Look,' Pomona said quietly, and Albus turned his head to see Horace Slughorn huffing towards them with a large brass cauldron and several chests of ingredients floating lazily behind him.

'Ah, glad to see you're here already, Albus,' panted Slughorn. 'And good evening to you, Miss Sprout. Are you here to help...?'

'Oh, no, I was just tending to the Mandrakes,' said Pomona, stifling another yawn.

'Of course, of course.' Slughorn waved a hand dismissively in the air. 'I _had_ wondered if perhaps you'd commissioned a few students as aids to this project, Albus... perhaps if Minerva and Tom were willing to lend us their admirable potion-making skills for a few hours, especially considering the, er, personal stake Minerva has in the outcome?'

'I think this is a tremendously difficult task best left to seasoned professors, Horace, rather than emotionally-compromised students,' Albus replied with a slight frown as he pulled a large and tattered library book from atop one of Slughorn's floating chests. 'Shall we begin, then?'

'Oh, I suppose so,' sighed Slughorn with a degree of stoicism, rolling up the sleeves of his robes.

Pomona rubbed her eyes and headed back towards the castle, too drowsy and anxious to remember that she still had her fuzzy pink earmuffs hanging from around her neck.

* * *

Minerva couldn't sleep. She tossed and turned in her four-poster, stared myopically out the window towards the full moon, and tried to ignore the tiny voice sneering in the back of her mind that the restorative draught might not work. Finally, she snatched her spectacles from her bedstand, slid into a tartan dressing robe and her slippers, and crept downstairs.

The common room seemed deserted at first glance; it being springtime, no dying embers crackled in the fireplace, and the moonlight through the window cast weird shadows across the ominously silent room. Minerva tripped over a rogue Quaffle that someone had left in the centre of the room and lit the tip of her wand to avoid nearly breaking her nose again; a sudden rustle in a darkened corner made her whip quickly around, squinting in the thin beam of light.

'Who's there?' she snapped, startled by how loud her own voice sounded.

A massive shape rose off the floor slowly. Minerva raised her wand slightly, her mind racing quickly through all the strongest and longest-lasting curses she knew.

'Tha' you, Miss McGonagall?' grunted the voice of Rubeus Hagrid.

'Hagrid!' Minerva moved quickly towards the boy, brow furrowed in concern. 'Are you quite all right?'

'Yeah,' sniffed Hagrid miserably.

'You're not very convincing, you know.' Minerva smiled slightly as she guided Hagrid to a chair and sat him down. 'Come on, what's the matter?'

Hagrid looked guiltily down at his enormous hands, then back up at Minerva.

'I can' tell yeh,' he whispered. 'I've done summat against the rules, Miss McGonagall, an' I promise it'll be put right tonight, but if anyone finds out...'

'Hagrid, what is it?' Minerva gripped Hagrid's shoulder, unsure of whether she was more worried or more irritated. 'Look, if it's more animals in the dormitories, I know Professor Dumbledore...'

Hagrid shook his head repeatedly.

'This one's different,' he said urgently. 'I've gotta get rid of him fast, before someone gets hurt...'

'Before anyone gets _hurt_? Hagrid, what...?'

'I can' say!' Hagrid muttered, wringing his hands. 'I can' say, but I promise, he'll be gone by tomorrow.'

And with that, he wrenched himself from Minerva's grasp and fled out the portrait hole.

'Hagrid!' barked Minerva after him, dashing to the portrait hole and scrambling through herself, but by then Hagrid had disappeared from sight. Nostrils flaring in annoyance, Minerva chose one direction down the hall and followed it, hoping to encounter Hagrid and demand a more lucid answer from him when she did. Instead, rounding a corner at a jog, she crashed headlong into Professor Dumbledore.

'Even at four in the morning, you seem quite capable of reaching an impressive velocity when irked, Minerva,' noted Dumbledore, wincing slightly as he prodded a rib that Minerva had hit particularly violently with her clenched fist.

'Clearly,' muttered Minerva, rubbing her nose. 'Sorry.'

'And well you should be,' said Dumbledore with a frown. 'Just because the restorative draught is settling does not mean it is safe for students to be wandering the hallways at night; whatever caused this could yet be lurking about these corridors.'

'I know, sir, but...'

'I know you know,' sighed Dumbledore. 'But it seems as if the most intelligent students seem to act the least rationally nonetheless, if you and Mr Riddle have served as indicators tonight.'

'Riddle?' said Minerva, instantly on her guard. 'Have you seen him about tonight?'

'Leaving Professor Dippet's office, yes.'

'What for?' asked Minerva suspiciously.

Dumbledore looked sternly at Minerva. 'If Hogwarts is closed – and given the likelihood of finding the cause of these attacks, the probability seems ever higher – you must understand that Mr Riddle's prospects for the future are far less fortunate than yours, Minerva. His story is his to keep and share with whom he will, but understand that his childhood was neither easy nor nostalgic, and that he may very well have to return to such an existence.'

Minerva might have felt a slight inclination towards sympathy for Riddle's plight, but the tingle of his mocking kiss still played about her mouth, and she dug her teeth violently into her lower lip.

'The restorative draught is settling, you said?' she asked instead.

'In the Hospital Wing. In fact, it should be ready for application in -' Dumbledore glanced down towards his wrist at a watch around whose face circled tiny glowing planets '- a quarter hour.'

Minerva nodded. 'I want to be there.'

Dumbledore looked up and fixed Minerva with a serious gaze.

'You do realise that, despite our best efforts, the draught may have no effect?'

'Yes,' Minerva whispered.

'Very well,' Dumbledore sighed. 'Come.'

Striding down the empty corridors with Dumbledore eased Minerva's fears of attack, allowing her to focus entirely on her fears, her insides writhing every time she let herself consider the worst. She swallowed the sour bile that threatened to rise up into her mouth and set her jaw determinedly.

'What brought you out of Gryffindor Tower at this hour, Minerva?' asked Dumbledore suddenly.

'What?' It took Minerva a second to remember what had happened, and another second to judge whether or not to tell Dumbledore. 'Oh, it was something Hagrid said, Professor.'

'Was it,' said Dumbledore, smiling slightly.

'Yes, he, er, said he'd broken another rule and brought another animal into the dormitory,' admitted Minerva. 'But, Professor, he made it sound like this one was considerably more dangerous than the others. He kept on talking about how no-one was going to get hurt.'

Dumbledore frowned.

'Rest assured, Minerva, I'll have a very serious discussion with him about whatever this is. Merlin knows, Rubeus's idea of what sort of animal makes a good pet is quite different from most people, but perhaps it's good thing if he's finally acknowledging that others might not take to them as readily as he.'

'You're not overly concerned, then?'

'Oh, goodness, no.' Dumbledore's frowned twitched into a smile. 'I'm fully confident in Rubeus's ability to keep his animals under his complete control; he wouldn't let them hurt a fly without his leave.'

Minerva nodded, and felt nauseous with nerves again as they entered the Hospital Wing. Professor Slughorn was testing the consistency of the restorative draught with a tiny silver ladle at the far end of the hall; Madam Malus and Professor Merrythought stood by, watching anxiously, and an ashen-faced Professor Dippet sat collapsed in a chair, looking as though he might be sick should he try to speak.

'Back just in time, Albus,' muttered Slughorn, his walrus moustache twitching with pride as he watched the potion cascade smoothly from the ladle. 'How do you propose we do this?'

'The book says to administer the potion to the eyeballs of the Petrified victim first, and then to cover the skin of t entire body if improvement is seen in the eyes,' explained Dumbledore wearily, his voice heavy with trepidation. 'The concept is that, as the Petrification was caused through sight, one must first revive the mind through the eyes, and only then the nerves of the body, so as to avoid putting the victim's entire system into shock.'

'Right.' Slughorn cleared his throat nervously. 'Well, Arnemetia, if you'd like to take charge of things...'

'Of course,' said Madam Malus in a strained voice. With her mouth pressed into a tense line, she spooned a tiny bit of the potion into the ladle, walked to Poppy Pomfrey's bedside, and gently dripped a few drops onto the surface of each of the girl's glassy, staring eyes. Then she stood back, and everyone waited.

Minerva stared down at the floor, her breathing tight. She glanced up and saw Professor Slughorn looking at her; he nodded in acknowledgement, and Minerva responded in kind, grateful that for once the Potions professor was not trying to engage her in trivial conversation. A minute passed; then two. Minerva felt her knees trembling slightly, and was comforted when Professor Dumbledore placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

Finally, a few moments after a clock somewhere chimed five and the sun was glinting below the horizon, a rooster crowed, and Poppy Pomfrey blinked for the first time in months.

'Merlin,' sighed Slughorn, his portly frame sagging in relief. Professor Dippet buried his face in his hands; Madam Malus was smiling weakly, seemingly on the verge of collapse; Professor Merrythought blew her nose discreetly into an embroidered handkerchief. As Minerva glanced sideways, she saw that Professor Dumbledore was smiling too, crystalline tears dripping from the end of his nose to hang in his long auburn beard.

'Can you hear me, Poppy?' asked Professor Merrythought kindly, and Poppy's eyes swivelled towards the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor's voice. 'You've been in the Hospital Wing for the past several months, Petrified, and we're going to revive the rest of your body very slowly right now. Do you understand?'

Poppy blinked in acknowledgement.

'Right,' said Professor Merrythought under her breath, and with a flick of her wand, a light shower of the potion floated out of the cauldron and sprinkled itself lightly over Poppy's face. A minute later, Poppy furrowed her brow slightly as she worked her jaw back and forth.

'How long did you say I'd been here?' she asked finally, in a voice raspy from misuse.

'Since the end of October,' said Madam Malus.

'Oh dear,' sighed Poppy. 'I have missed out on a lot of class, haven't I.'

The professors all laughed shakily, and as Madam Malus carefully misted more potion over Poppy's entire body, Professor Dippet assured her that every measure possible would be taken to ensure that she was caught up on her school work before the start of the next term.

'My god,' gasped Poppy when she was finally able to sit up and stare around the Hospital Wing wide-eyed. 'What happened? Why are...'

'Shh, don't excite yourself too much, now,' said Madam Malus soothingly, trying to get Poppy to lie back down.

'But...' Poppy interjected, then gritted her teeth.

'Are you all right?' Madam Malus frowned in concern as Poppy gingerly wiggled the tip of her foot, somewhat fascinated by the effects of the potion.

'Yes, it just feels like a very severe bout of pins-and-needles all up my leg. Ouch.' Poppy winced, then, satisfied her leg was returning to working condition, returned to her original theme. 'What happened to all of us?'

Professors Dippet and Merrythought glanced at each other, then at Dumbledore, who took the hint and graciously stepped forward.

'Miss Pomfrey,' he explained gently, 'there have been a series of somewhat inexplicable attacks, of which you were the first casualty. Since then, four other students have been Petrified. The attacker is still unknown, but surveillance around the school has increased significantly, and within the next hour, you and all of the other Petrification victims will have regained the use of your faculties.'

Poppy nodded, clearly still confused. She gasped slightly as the last of the violent tingling ceased in her leg, and then slowly swung herself onto the edge of the bed.

'Miss Pomfrey, what do you think you're doing?' snapped Madam Malus, surging forward with the greatest disapproval.

'I really should go send an owl to my mum and dad, telling them I'm all right,' said Poppy distractedly, pushing herself onto her feet and wobbling slightly.

'Please don't trouble yourself with that, they'll be arriving in a few hours' time,' said Professor Dippet hastily as Madam Malus seized Poppy by the arm and forced her back into bed. 'For the moment, Miss Pomfrey, please, just _rest_ and try not to agitate yourself too much.'

Poppy scowled slightly, but acquiesced, and settled back in her bed with a tray of tea and hot oatmeal that had appeared on her bedstand, to watch as, one by one, each of the other victims were revived by the professors. She registered slight surprise when Minerva walked to her bedside, but within a few moments she was asking Minerva in an animated undertone about everything she had missed, and Minerva, her nerves placated by Poppy's recovery, was glad to respond.

At half-past five, the Hospital Wing door opened with a creak, and in stormed a dishevelled Tom Riddle, a bleeding cut on his lip and a terrifying fury blazing in his dark eyes.

'Professor Dippet, I must speak with you immediately,' he said calmly to the Headmaster, who stared at Riddle in bewilderment but followed Riddle slowly out of the room. As he turned to leave, Riddle's gaze met Minerva's, and she had to fight the impulse to whip out her wand and curse him. She was almost relieved when Professor Dumbledore, who had watched this exchange with a degree of wary interest, politely excused himself and followed the pair out of the Hospital Wing.

'Look,' said Poppy, nudging Minerva away from her bed. Minerva glanced round to see Madam Malus administering the restorative draught to Jeff's eyes, and, her heart pounding, Minerva made her way around the bedframes to stand nearby as Professor Merrythought again explained the need to move slowly through the revival process. When she saw Minerva watching anxiously, Professor Merrythought shot her a small smile and leaned her head slightly to the right to invite Minerva over.

The two witches waited impatiently for the potion to finish settling into Jeff's head, and when he finally emitted a long sigh, Minerva burst into tears.

'Minerva!' Jeff croaked, then cleared his throat to no avail. 'Oh god, are you all right?'

'Yes,' Minerva sniffed, placing a hand tenderly on Jeff's cheek. 'Yes, I'm just so glad to see that _you'll_ be all right.'

'Well, that remains to be seen,' Jeff joked, and he grinned at Minerva in that manner which she had so missed. 'Merlin, it just never occurred to me that _I_ would be attacked, you know?'

'You teenagers have an unfailing ability to irrationally believe yourselves to be invincible,' commented Professor Merrythought drily as more potion sprayed from the cauldron onto Jeff's torso at her command.

Jeff grimaced as the potion soaked through his shirt and began to take effect, and carefully unclenched one hand. Minerva instinctively grasped it in her own, and after a moment, Jeff squeezed back slightly.

As Madam Malus flicked a final shower of potion onto Jeff's legs, the door banged open, and Professor Dippet charged through the rows of beds to where the newly-awakened students were beginning to converse in bemused undertones, Dumbledore striding urgently after him and Tom Riddle sauntering lazily behind.

'Excuse me,' said Professor Dippet so seriously that the young Gryffindor boy paused mid-sip to stare at the Headmaster over the rim of his teacup. 'I'm delighted that you all seem so well recovered already, and I regret to have to disturb you so abruptly...'

'Armando, surely this can wait?' barked Madam Malus angrily.

'Unfortunately not.' Dippet cleared his throat. 'With many apologies for bringing up an unpleasant subject, I need you all to recall exactly what you saw just before you were attacked.'

There was a long silence as the students looked at each other. Jeff pushed himself into a sitting position and glanced over at Poppy Pomfrey, who shrugged slightly.

'This may sound bizarre, but I can't recall anything definite,' she said earnestly. 'The Petrification must have taken place the moment I saw whatever caused it, because I can't actually remember _seeing_ anything.'

The other students nodded their assent. Professor Dippet looked round at them all, desperation in his eyes.

'Nothing?' he pleaded. 'No memories of huge monsters, spitting poisons or foul vapours?'

'For all I know, it could have been a _person_ who attacked us,' said the Gryffindor boy.

'Impossible, Mr Clearwater, we checked you all for every type of spell known to wizards,' muttered Dippet, running a hand over his mouth. 'And none of you saw anybody just before you were attacked?'

Everyone slowly shook their heads.

'Very well,' sighed Dippet, turning towards Dumbledore. 'Albus, there's no way of disproving that Tom is correct...'

'But neither is there any way of proving that he is,' replied Dumbledore, his voice soft and only barely controlled. 'I urge you, Armando, to consider the ramifications of placing the blame on an innocent student...'

Jeff tugged Minerva's sleeve, and she turned her attention away from the argument between the two departing wizards.

'Go ahead and follow them,' Jeff urged mischievously. 'I know you want to.'

Minerva raised a quizzical eyebrow. 'Are you sure? You only just recovered, and...'

'Minerva!' Jeff laughed. 'I'll be right here when you get back. Stop being polite.'

Minerva smirked and kissed Jeff quickly on the cheek, then slipped discreetly out the door and after her professors.

'Oh, please, Albus, look at the facts,' Dippet snapped somewhere ahead of her. 'He had a monster. Tom says he saw it, and he says that he would have killed it if he hadn't been physically prevented him from doing so; you saw Tom's split lip, Albus, don't deny it!'

'I saw Mr Riddle as clearly as you did, Armando,' said Dumbledore with calm fury. 'However, I do not take him at his word as readily.'

'You think he _lied_? When you yourself said that Miss McGonagall reported a similar story only a few hours before?'

Minerva's insides clenched, and as she heard the footsteps ahead of her stop, she too halted just around a corner, pressed against the stone wall.

'If Mr Hagrid has a "monster" of some sort – and, given his taste in pets, I have no doubt that you would consider it as such, Armando – I still fully believe that he would never allow it to hurt another student. Minerva reported to me a conversation in which Mr Hagrid expressed great concern over the safety of his peers; surely, this indicates he prioritizes the well-being of other students just as highly as his pets?'

'Oh, come now, Albus,' scoffed Dippet, 'if he really cared that much, he wouldn't bring the beasts into the dormitory in the first place!'

'One of these "beasts," Armando, was a mere boarhound, and a very friendly dog too,' countered Dumbledore. 'I will admit I took no issue to the dog being in the dormitory on cold nights; and frankly, I don't see why we should ban students from owning less-conventional animals, such as dogs, when so many people are allergic to cats anyway.'

'This is not a question of whether students should be allowed to bring dogs to school! This is a question of whether or not a student has been attacking and even _killing_ his own peers!' Dippet had the air of a man at the end of his rope. 'Stop this nonsense at once, Albus; you know as well as I why Tom is far more trustworthy than Hagrid.'

'High marks have nothing to do with high standards of decency, if that's what you're suggesting.'

'No, it's not. Good heavens, Albus, just _look_ at Hagrid! He could easily kill a student with his bare hands, let alone with some sort of monster.'

There followed a very pregnant pause. Minerva strained to hear if the conversation was progressing at all, but the only sounds were those of small birds chirping their morning strains as they flitted past the nearby window.

'You are a fool,' said Dumbledore finally in a voice so soft that Minerva almost missed it. 'Cut my salary or relieve me of my position for that statement if you'd like, Armando, but you are a blind fool.'

'Now, Albus, I didn't mean it in that way,' said Dippet uncomfortably. 'I'm not suggesting that Hagrid _meant_ to kill that girl, but regardless of intentionality, it did happen.'

'I still do not believe that any pet of Hagrid's would be capable of doing this,' insisted Dumbledore. 'This is serious Dark magic, Armando. One does not just stumble upon this sort of power unintentionally, and even if he had, I would wager my life that Rubeus Hagrid would seek help, and risk his reputation, rather than hide in shame and allow more students to be harmed!'

'You trust too easily!' fumed Dippet.

'Perhaps, but it is better than viewing the world with such hatred and suspicion that trust becomes impossible.' Dumbledore paused, and the tension rang in the gaping silence. 'Where is he?'

'Hagrid? Tom said he left him in a full-body bind, down in the dungeon where he found him.'

'Then I suggest we go tend to any damage that may have been done to Mr Hagrid, and question him afterwards,' said Dumbledore icily. With that, he and Dippet continued down the hall in a mutually-agreed-upon silence.

Minerva exhaled slowly, and crept back towards the Hospital Wing. So they thought it was Hagrid who had done this – Hagrid, with his clumsy hands and puppy-like loyalty. Minerva shook her head. She herself was not sure if Hagrid's so-called "monster" had indeed been attacking the students, but she did believe that if it had, it was not Hagrid's fault. As the daughter of the Head of Department of Magical Law Enforcement, she knew that intentionality factored into any punishment meted out by the Wizengamot, and while a girl had died, Minerva couldn't see how someone as goodhearted as Hagrid could possibly be indicted for a crime he had not intended to commit.

She brushed past Riddle, his lip easily mended, as she entered the Hospital Wing, and a shiver of loathing ran up her spine. Dippet had to be a fool indeed to trust a boy like that at his word... and Minerva only wished that her own story had not corroborated so cleanly.

'What's going on?' asked Jeff, offering Minerva some crumpets, which she refused with a slight shake of her head.

'I daresay you'll find out soon enough,' she said grimly.

* * *

Years later, Minerva could never quite remember how she managed to pass her NEWTs with a perfectly acceptable mixture of Outstanding and Exceeds Expectations marks. The thrill of being reunited with Jeff was distracting enough, even if Madam Malus insisted he stay in the Hospital Wing for a full three days with the rest of the bored and already-fully-recovered students; when Pomona and Augusta made it to the Hospital Wing a few hours after Jeff's recovery, they flung themselves at him with such enthusiasm that the bed-ridden students around looked up in annoyance from their various books and games of wizards chess. Once released from the care of Madam Malus, Jeff sat with Minerva in the Library in patient silence, while she frantically scanned notes and heavy textbooks, trying not to distract her too much but inevitably engaging her in whispered conversation punctuated by suppressed laughter. (Laden with such stress, Minerva tried not to be jealous of the fact that Jeff would not take his NEWTs until the end of the summer, but the reminder that Jeff's studies had been stymied by his former Petrification was usually enough to make her swallow her mild resentment.)

On the afternoon of her final examination, Minerva trailed slowly out of the Great Hall amidst a throng of bewildered students. As she watched her peers shake themselves out of their academic stupor and disperse with growing excitement, a sudden wave of loss swept over Minerva. Tomorrow, she would be leaving Hogwarts as a student for the last time – Hogwarts, which had been her home for the past seven years and afforded her more intrigue and laughter and tears and wonder than anywhere else she had ever been. Perhaps she would see her peers out in the world, at their jobs in the Ministry, or at various social events; but the bond they shared as fellow students, experiencing Hogwarts at this particular moment, would stretch to its limit and perhaps even snap as the Hogwarts Express chugged farther and farther from the castle's impressive silhouette.

Minerva paused where she was, surveying the sparkling lake and the Forbidden Forest and Ogg's hut. She tried to imagine how it would look in a few decades, when she would come to Hogwarts to visit old professors or even her own children... much the same in appearance, she decided, but completely different nonetheless.

The possibility of returning to her room to pack occurred to her momentarily, but the accompanying pang of sorrow was enough to deter her. There would be time after the end-of-year feast in the evening. Instead, she wandered down the grassy hillside towards the lake, watching the tentacles of the giant squid break the water's surface now and again to trail lazy ripples in the waves.

When she reached the grove of birch trees at the water's edge, she was not surprised to see Jeff already there.

'Finished already?' he asked as she sat down next to him.

'Yes,' she sighed, leaning her head on his shoulder.

'You don't sound very relieved, you know. Please don't tell me you're _already_ worrying about your marks...'

'Not quite yet, no,' laughed Minerva.

'Not that it matters,' added Jeff, 'since everyone knows you'll get top marks, and you've already been accepted for the Auror training program.'

'Don't remind me,' Minerva groaned. 'I've been thinking...'

'Nothing new there.'

'No, really.' Minerva sat back and looked at Jeff seriously. 'I'm going to miss Hogwarts so much. I'm going to miss Professor Dumbledore, and Professor Merrythought, and Pomona and Augusta and you so much.' She lay her hand on top of Jeff's in the grass. 'But despite everything that's happened over the past year, I still feel like we've been living inside a bubble, separate from the rest of the world; there's still so much to be learned out there about dealing with people, and the consequences of a misplaced word.'

Jeff's face darkened. 'You can't blame yourself for what happened to Hagrid, Minerva. That wasn't your fault.'

'I know, I know it wasn't, but I can't stop myself from _feeling_ like it's somehow my fault that he was expelled.'

'Minerva, look.' Jeff laid his hand firmly upon her own. 'Even Dippet didn't seem at all convinced that Hagrid had instigated the attacks. It's the fault of arrogant bastards like Tom Riddle, who plant doubt in the minds of people who can't quite get over their prejudices and act on them without reason.'

Minerva sighed angrily, not meeting Jeff's eyes.

'The world's gone mad, hasn't it? The whole bloody world.'

'Yeah.' Jeff's eyes dropped as he took Minerva's hands in his own. 'Look, Minerva, I...'

His voice trailed off into silence, and they both looked out over the lake. A thousand thoughts were swirling about Minerva's brain, and she had no idea how to begin trying to express what she was feeling.

'We'll still see each other,' she said finally. 'You'll pass your NEWTs, and go into the Healer training program. If you end up at St Mungo's, we'll both be in London.'

'And there's always Augusta and Paul's wedding,' Jeff added in a slightly choked voice.

'Nice to know people can still be happy, even with so much horror in the world.'

Jeff leaned his forehead against Minerva's and grinned.

'So long as any goodness at all still exists, I suppose it's possible, yes.'

Minerva nodded, and slowly kissed Jeff, warmth rushing through her body as he responded in kind and pressed her closer to him. All the anxiety and fear she felt at the prospect of facing the world in such a dark time melted slowly away; all she wanted was to be here, in this moment, with the man she wanted to stay with for eternity, forgetting the darkness settling slowly over everything she most loved. She sensed that Jeff shared her desperation for the state of the world – politics, wars, bigotry, genocide – and that he found in her the same support and solace that she found in him. In this moment, it mattered to neither of them that she was pureblood and wealthy, nor that he was the orphan of Jewish Muggles; the forbidden nature of their love, and the way in which it defied everything that the Malfoys and Blacks of the world held dear, made it all the more delicious. Perhaps it was this mutual sense of rebellion, perhaps it was mere passion, but when Jeff's hands paused for a moment on Minerva's robes, she assisted him in tugging them off and shivered in anticipation as he pulled his own robes off, the grass tickling her bare legs.

Later, as they lay in each other's arms under the rustling shadows of the trees, Jeff kissed the top of Minerva's head and asked her if she would marry him. She had almost expected the question, but it still caught her by surprise.

'Do you really even need to ask?' she laughed. Then, looking Jeff straight in the eyes and smoothing the hair from his eyes, she answered seriously, 'Yes, of course I will.'

Jeff broke into a wide grin.

'For a moment, I was so terrified you were going to say no,' he half-jested.

'Of course not.' Minerva disentangled herself from Jeff's arms a bit, sat up, and located her spectacles tucked inside one of her shoes. 'Still, I'd like to wait a few years, just until we're both settled into our careers and this idiotic war has died down a bit.'

Jeff nodded. 'That seems reasonable enough.' He frowned slightly.

'What?'

'Nothing, I just... was wondering if my sister and my uncle would be able to make it to the wedding, after the war's over and all.'

Minerva lay back down and nestled her head on Jeff's shoulder.

'Of course they will,' she said, almost believing herself. 'We'll have a huge party, and everyone will be there – well, not certain toadlike harpies and their cohorts, but everyone we like – and hopefully my dad will be well enough to attend by then, and the decorations will be even better than the ones at Slughorn's ridiculous Christmas parties.' She laughed suddenly. 'Merlin, I'm starting to sound _just_ like Augusta.'

They lay there a while longer, until the sunlight attained the rich golden hue of a late spring afternoon. Finally, Minerva shook herself.

'Come on,' she sighed, tossing Jeff his clothes. 'We'd best get back to the castle, or else we'll miss the entire feast.'

* * *

Jeff checked once more to ensure that he'd pulled all the grass out of Minerva's hair before, hand in hand, they entered a Great Hall draped in elaborate banners displaying the House colours and emblems.

'I suppose I'm obligated to go sit with the Ravenclaws,' he whispered in Minerva's ear, and she gave him one final peck on the cheek before heading over to where Augusta sat, perusing a copy of _Witch Weekly_ for fashion tips.

' _There_ you are,' she admonished as Minerva slid onto the bench next to her. 'I was just starting to worry, because you weren't up in the dormitory when I was considering beginning to pack and...' She raised an eyebrow at Minerva. 'You look _awfully_ pleased with yourself, you know.'

'Do I?' said Minerva breezily, taking the magazine from Augusta.

'Just an observation,' replied Augusta innocently, smirking as she glanced towards the Ravenclaw table. 'On a more serious note, I can't believe this is our last meal at Hogwarts.'

'I know,' said Minerva glumly.

'Well,' sighed Augusta, 'as my mum always says, all good things must eventually pass.'

'I can't decide if that statement is intriguingly insightful, or merely cliché.'

'Excuse me, excuse me!' called Professor Dippet over the chatter filling the hall, and as Professor Dumbledore tapped several times on the edge of his crystal goblet with his fork, the noise faded to silence.

'Thank you.' Dippet cleared his throat and surveyed his students, his hands trembling slightly as he gripped the podium before him. He had never been a terribly impressive man in stature or demeanour, but in this moment, he seemed the very antithesis of reassuring, merely old and defeated. 'I need not mention that this has been one of the most trying years that Hogwarts has ever experienced. It has been a period of intense fear and grief for many of us, especially those close to the victims of this tragedy, but, as I'm sure you are all aware, the culprit responsible for the series of attacks has been apprehended, expelled, and imprisoned under the closest guard.'

Behind Dippet's podium, Dumbledore sat staring resolutely at his hands folded neatly on the table. Only one who observed him closely would have noted that his entire being became slightly more rigid at these words.

'Hogwarts, with the approval of the Ministry of Magic, will therefore remain opened for your education,' continued Dippet heavily. 'The castle will be thoroughly searched over the summer for evidence of any residual dangers, and by next fall we shall ensure that this sort of event never again occurs. Your safety as students is of paramount importance to us, and we as professors will be sure to uphold it with ever more vigilance. We owe as much to the one victim whose vitality could not be restored by even the strongest restorative draught, and whose presence within our halls will be sorely missed.'

Dippet's voice faltered. Minerva was surprised when Augusta handed her a serviette and patted her on the back sympathetically; she had not realised that she was crying.

'But, as this school year closes, we say other, less enduring goodbyes to one another. Tomorrow, we will wish our very fond farewells to our returning friends for several months, and, to our graduating students, perhaps for a longer time.' Dippet smiled in an avuncular but sorrowful fashion. 'I would also like to announce the departure of one of our beloved faculty members, Professor Merrythought, whose long and exceptional service to Hogwarts has certainly merited the retirement she so richly deserves.'

Hearty applause echoed around the hall – coupled with loud cheers from the Ravenclaw table – as Professor Merrythought, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief, stood and waved a hand in acknowledgement. Minerva recalled the article in the _Prophet_ that had featured Merrythought's slaughtered grandchild, and shivered slightly.

'Professor Merrythought's position, we are pleased to announce, will be taken by Mr Kingsley Shacklebolt, who is taking a leave from his position with the Auror department at the Ministry to serve as the interim Defence Against the Dark Arts professor of his alma mater,' announced Dippet with a touch of pride, gesturing to a strikingly handsome young man seated at the end of the staff table. As this new arrival raised a gracious but confident hand in acknowledgement to the cautious clapping (and, on the part of the girls, much giggling), he received Minerva noted that he couldn't be more than a decade older than she herself.

'The summer is, of course, a time for reflection,' Dippet continued as the smattering of applause died away, a shadow crossing his brow. 'Although I do not wish to burden you with any future fears or distress, my peers have strongly urged me to make a statement about the goings-on outside of these walls. As you are undoubtedly aware, attacks by Dark wizards have been increasing in frequency and intensity throughout Europe, even in London itself. Please be sure to keep a wary eye out for yourselves during this summer holiday. And, that said,' he added, his voice brightening considerably, 'this school year is now concluded, and, on the behalf of the entire staff, I would like to congratulate our seventh years, as well as our winners in a very close race for this year's House Cup, Gryffindor...'

Minerva cheered along with the other Gryffindors, and grinned as she saw Dumbledore nod pleasantly towards a most disgruntled Slughorn.

'I declare this school year over,' announced Dippet, and the feast appeared in bountiful quantities on the long tables.

* * *

Once again, Minerva couldn't sleep. Not only was she now waxing nostalgic over her years at Hogwarts in what she conceded was a most ridiculous manner, but she also was struck with the horrible feeling that she would leave something behind that she'd forgotten to pack into her now-inadequately-small trunk; she never would have believed that she could have accumulated so many extra items. Moreover, she desperately wanted to be in Jeff's arms right now, to feel the warmth of his breath against her cheek, to experience again the overwhelming pleasure of their lovemaking under the shadows of the birches...

Cautiously, Minerva raised her head and pulled her wand from beneath her pillow. The other girls in her dormitory had taken their time with packing and readying themselves for bed, what with all the sentimental weeping, and the reminiscing on every detail of school life, and the laments that they would never have the privilege of sitting in Kingsley Shacklebolt's class every week. Thankfully, even Augusta was snoring slightly by now, and Minerva slipped out of bed and down the stairs as quietly as possible, wondering if Jeff would even be up to acknowledge a message sent by Patronus.

The fire was flickering strongly in the common room, though it was the dead of night. Minerva paused for a moment, revelling in her memories as she took in the sight of the shadowed room, then started when a tall figure rose from a chair in front of the fire.

'Is that you, Minerva?'

'Professor!' Minerva cursed inwardly, wondering if she was still subject to school punishments even after the school year was officially finished. 'What...?'

'I'm sorry if I've alarmed you,' said Professor Dumbledore. 'I came in here to receive the end of a message through the fire when I'd run out of wood in my office. It didn't seem fair to make the house-elves fetch me some more logs at this hour of the night.'

Minerva opened her mouth to ask what the message had been about, but Dumbledore looked so exhausted that she decided not to.

'I take it you were the one who asked Professor Dippet to acknowledge the war in his speech?' she asked instead.

'Indeed, it was.' Minerva had never seen the Transfiguration professor look outright annoyed until this moment. 'I'd hoped he would have been a bit more direct about matters such as the imminent danger we face, and the choices of loyalty that rest before us, but clearly Professor Dippet did not want to mar the end of an already-trying year with any more solemnity.'

Minerva nodded with a smirk, recalling how Professor Dippet (obviously no longer sober) had ended the feast by attempting and failing spectacularly at singing the school song to the tune of an overly-cheerful patter song from a Gilbert and Sullivan operetta.

'And you're finishing this year off well, Minerva?' asked Dumbledore kindly, his face reverting to its usual placid expression. 'Alastor tells me he's very eager to start working with you at the Ministry.'

'A bit sad,' Minerva admitted. 'I'll miss Hogwarts, and all my friends, even my classes.' She stopped, trying determine how to put into words the immense gratitude she felt towards Dumbledore for his unfailing confidence in her, but somehow the words she was thinking seemed as if they would sound insincere upon articulation. 'Professor, after all these years without ever having thanked you properly, I wanted to say...'

She paused again to fumble with her phrasing. Dumbledore held up a hand with an understanding smile.

'A simple thank you will be quite sufficient,' he said.

'Thank you, then.'

'You are most welcome.' Dumbledore smiled broadly. 'It has been my pleasure, Minerva, and I anticipate you will go very far, should you care to do so.'

Minerva nodded awkwardly. 'I'll miss you.'

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. 'But surely you'll stop by Hogwarts to visit Jeff over the summer?'

'I'd intended to, yes,' said Minerva, blushing. 'You'll be here?'

'I'll be tutoring him... not that he'll need much intensive guidance. Professor Merrythought will have already left the castle, otherwise she would have gladly taken on the duty herself.'

For the second time that evening, Minerva was tempted to ask a question that she bit back at the last minute; Professor Merrythought's personal life was her own concern, after all.

'Jeff's very fond of her,' she said simply. 'Nothing against you, Professor, but I think he'll miss her very much.'

'And he can rest assured that the feeling is reciprocated.' Dumbledore gave Minerva one of those piercing glances that she always felt could read her every thought. 'He's a very good man, Minerva, and you're very lucky to have each other, which I do hope you'll never forget even when the chaos around you is overwhelming. I personally have always been of the opinion that it's in times like these when it's especially important to be reminded that there's a little more love in this world.' He smiled. 'The best of luck to both of you.'

Minerva was quite unsure of how to respond to this, especially when Dumbledore strode to the portrait hole and held it open for her.

'As you are technically now an alumna of Hogwarts, I do not believe I have any right to prevent you from wandering the hallways at night, should you choose to do so,' he said lightly. Minerva grinned sheepishly and scrambled out of the portrait hole, pausing for a moment to meet the gaze of her former professor before the portrait closed and she turned to race down the corridor, summoning a Patronus as she went.


	16. London, 1941

Minerva glanced first to her left, then to her right, and walked quickly across Whitehall, her map clutched in her had. It was mid-morning in London at the start of the summer of 1941, and to her absolute terror, she was about to step from the familiar and well-practised role of a school girl into the unknown dangers of the Auror world. She was already wondering how she would cope, considering her luck to date in Muggle London alone; already, this morning, she had nearly been hit by two motorcars traversing Charing Cross Road and then Leicester Square, which made her suspect she would meet her demise within the next week by walking straight into the path of an oncoming omnibus.

Only yesterday, her mother had accompanied her for her first ride on the Tube – 'Just so you're not overwhelmed if you ever need to do it yourself, you know' – and helped her move her things into one of the tidy rooms the Ministry rented for Aurors-in-Training. Alexia (dressed impeccably in a brown Muggle dress with a fashionable hat to match, neither of which Minerva had known existed before) sniffed approvingly at the brown brick house in which her daughter would be living for the next two years, its walls merging into a solid front with those of the adjacent Bedford Square residences.

'It seems like a safe enough neighbourhood, now that the hostilities have ceased,' she said to Minerva with a tight-lipped severity that Minerva knew concealed tears of worry – the bombs (which seemed to have finally stopped for good) had crumbled countless buildings in the blocks surrounding the spell-protected Ministry housing. 'And you'll be able to get to the Ministry quickly by foot if the Floo network is ever disabled.'

Minerva nodded attentively, but she was brimming with excitement and preferred to focus on the positive aspects of her new life. Here she was, in London! Other than Diagon Alley, King's Cross, and St. Mungo's, she had only visited this, England's capital, once or twice before in her life, and then never Central London, such as the Cunninghams' home out in Stratford. She had never before lived in a city, and already she was intoxicated by London's vibrancy and kineticism, its rush and flow, the unending streams of people of all different races and creeds and classes and professions, hurrying up and down Tottenham Court Road and dashing across Trafalgar Square. Her first night in London – only last night, she reminded herself – she had gotten thoroughly lost trying to find the Leaky Cauldron, ended up on Holborn Street, and explored the Inns of Court before asking which way back to Bloomsbury.

At least she had slept soundly. Hogwarts had figured somewhat prominently in her dreams, and she was fairly sure that it was the first time that reality had ever seemed more surreal to her.

Espying the phone booth mentioned to her by the Ministry official who had supervised the transfer of her belongings into her new room, Minerva walked quickly down the block in as inconspicuous a manner as possible, trying not to trip in the slight heels of the Muggle shoes she had been told to wear. Once safely inside the phone booth, she hesitantly dialed the number she had scrawled onto the edge of her map, and descended slowly down beneath the pavement.

When the lift shuddered to a halt and the door slid open, Minerva's jaw dropped as she beheld the soaring Atrium of the Ministry of Magic. Her neck craned upwards as she admired the ceiling, she walked out of the lift and straight into a uniformed guard.

'Watch it, there, miss,' he grunted, holding out his wand.

'Excuse me,' said Minerva, blushing. 'I was just...'

'Arms out,' said the Ministry official in a bored voice, 'and please let us inspect all bags you might have. Name?'

'Er, Minerva McGonagall?' responded Minerva in amazement as the guard began running his wand along her arms and torso.

'Mmhm...' the guard said, conjuring up a small vial. 'Very good. I'll need to verify that using a saliva sample, if you don't mind spitting in here?'

Minerva stared at him.

'Well, I can't let you in if I haven't verified that you are who you say you are,' said the guard with a self-important sniff. 'You might be a foreign agent operating under Polyjuice Potion, which is why we need to verify your genetic makeup.'

'But wouldn't Polyjuice Potion change my genetic...'

'We've prided ourselves in the strictest security conceivable by the Ministry,' pontificated the guard over Minerva's protestations, 'ever since the breach last summer, and...'

'This bloke giving you trouble, McGonagall?' growled Alastor Moody, striding up to just behind the guard.

'Not at all, Mr Moody,' sniffed the guard. 'I was merely upholding the Ministry's strict protocol for searching all visitors and intruders...'

'Yeah, yeah, look,' said Moody, unimpressed. 'McGonagall's here for her first day on the job, and I'm saying she's cleared, so if you'll excuse us...'

'Sir, I just need to take a Polyjuice Potion test!' responded the young man. 'By Ministry orders...'

'McGonagall, where was I headed the first time we met?' asked Moody, clearly annoyed.

'Er... to the Three Broomsticks, with Professor Dumbledore?' Minerva replied.

'Yeah, she's fine,' grumbled Moody. 'Come on, McGonagall...'

As Moody led her through the crowds with one of his sturdy hands clamped protectively on her shoulder, Minerva muttered to Moody, 'I thought you were always especially cautious when it comes to security.'

'I am,' Moody grunted back, 'but Crouch there is a raving zealot. Trying to enforce DNA testing for all Ministry employees... what a waste of time. The real problem, McGonagall,' he said, steering her into a lift at the far end of the Atrium, 'is that the Ministry doesn't care to account for the dangerous people who already have clearance to be in the building. Like the attackers mentioned by young Bartemius, in fact – Ministry officials, and their foreign confederates. An _internal_ security breach.'

Minerva nodded, suddenly miserable at the thought of her father lying in St. Mungo's, barely able to move his eyes. Moody clearly realised the effect that the conversation's trend was having on Minerva.

'There, now,' he said gruffly. 'It's hard to talk about, I know, but it's your new line of work, trying to prevent these sorts of things from happening again. Sentimentality has its time and place; but our success depends on our ability to separate emotion from performance. Here we are.'

The lift dinged, and as the golden grate slid open, Minerva followed Moody down an elegant wood-panelled corridor lit by hanging oil lamps. The walls were lined with portraits of the former Heads of the Auror Office.

'Are there any other new members in training?' Minerva asked.

'There's only two of you who are entirely new this session, you and an exchange student from the States,' replied Moody. 'She's not here yet; should be arriving some time later in the week. And then there are the second-year trainees, three chaps from various institutions around England and Wales. No-one you'd know from Hogwarts, I don't think.'

'That's it?'

'We only take the best.' Moody held open the door at the end of the corridor for Minerva, who followed Moody in. 'And, to make recruitment matters worse, it seems that, at the moment, most of the best aren't interested. Please, take a seat.'

'And why's that?' Minerva asked as Moody strode round his desk and seated himself across from her.

'Fear, mostly. I've often thought it's a pity that the most qualified people are sometimes those with the most common sense.' Moody gave a barking laugh. 'Oh, yes, the ones with their heads screwed on right can tell we'll be coming to war some time in the next few years, and unfortunately you were the only one brave enough to take the plunge anyway. Bloody pity – we have to send so many of our tried and true abroad these days that we've got barely anyone left back home. Welcome to the Lair, by the way... dubbed so by my subordinates, who assume if they're called in here, they're close to having their heads bitten off.'

Minerva glanced around what she assumed was Moody's office. It was a generously-sized room, adequately if not brightly lit, whose walls were lined with bookshelves, overflowing with hyperbolically-titled literature and messily-stuffed folders and trinkets of all types.

'Those are just some of my anti-Dark magic detectors,' said Moody proudly, his dark eyes glistening with enthusiasm as he waved a hand at the curious contraptions. 'You'll learn what all of them are soon enough. So. The Auror Office.'

He folded his hands and leaned forwards over his desk towards Minerva.

'I know your dad's the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, so you probably understand most of the structure, but here's how it works. Magical Law Enforcement does exactly what it says; it apprehends and prosecutes those who violate national and international codes of law in the United Kingdom. These violations range from the trivial to the unforgivable. Offices like Improper Use of Magic and Misuse of Muggle Artifacts deal with exactly the sorts of specialised minor infringements that their title describe, and the Squad picks up the average Tom, Dick, or Harry on the street for your standard illegal rubbish. The Wizengamot, of course, tries felons and criminals; they're our "supreme court," if you will, to use a transatlantic Muggle term. You getting all this?'

Minerva nodded. Her father hadn't talked a whole lot about work at home, but she understood the general layout of the Ministry.

'And then there's us,' Moody continued. 'The Auror Office has a special function to find and detain Dark wizards by any means necessary: legal arrests, covert operations, sometimes duels to the death. We're the Ministry's top intelligence agency, and, unlike our often-incompetent Muggle counterparts, we deal with both national and international threats. Now, because so much of what we do is highly classified and relies on sources and methods, we can only take the most skilled and highly-trained witches and wizards from the top schools around the country, and _then_ we have to give them even more training, as well as a number of tests to ensure their absolute reliability and trustworthiness. Our office functions on the premise that we can all trust each other completely, and that the nation can therefore trust us to carry out our duties to our fullest extent. Anyone who is found to have leaked any information to the enemy, knowingly or unknowingly, will be prosecuted for treason, very likely imprisoned in Azkaban for much if not all of their lives, and expelled from the Ministry. Understand?'

'We have counterparts in the Muggle world?' Minerva asked, thinking backwards through all the questions that had been going through her mind as Moody spoke.

'MI5, SIS, sometimes Scotland Yard,' Moody reeled off. 'Military Intelligence 5 – that's the Muggle domestic intelligence force, though right now they're wasting all their time spying on average civilians without finding one thing they're looking for. Bloody ridiculous. Secret Intelligence Service, MI6, does somewhat better – they do international espionage and operations. Scotland Yard is London's Muggle police force, and they're the ones we reach out to least, but it's still good to know they're there, if need be; they make all the arrests, based on what the MI5 tells them. Glad you asked about all this, McGonagall; most Aurors completely forget Muggle intelligence even exists out there, even though upon occasion, it's helped us greatly in the past. They can sometimes see into and around things that we can't, down underground.' Moody winked.

'So what more do we need to learn, as Aurors?' Minerva continued. 'Is it essentially an extension of our Defence Against the Dark Arts classes?'

'Well, yes, and no.' Moody leaned back in his chair with a sigh. 'Your courses in school have taught you the basics when it comes to wand work and incantations. What we teach you here is how to become an effective intelligence officer and anti-terrorism combatant not only physically and magically, but _mentally_. See, McGonagall, there are plenty of people out there with the skills, and perhaps even the intestinal fortitude, to do what we do; but the greatest challenges we face aren't even from external enemies, but from ourselves.'

Moody paused to take a swig from his hip flask. Minerva waited patiently.

'This is a job that deals constantly with some of the most tragic and trying scenarios you can imagine,' Moody continued. 'Families destroyed by acts of hate, perpetual emotional isolation from loved ones, having to live under secret identities. As an Auror, you _must_ be able to separate the personal from the professional, so long as you are acting in a professional capacity. Failure to do so could be fatal, for not only you, but all those working with you. And it's your job to be able to balance the two. Now, some of the people who come through here – like your dad – manage to find a balance that works for them, and they have long and productive careers, as well as happy and functional families. Others can't, and most of them leave to pursue the relationships and social lives they could never maintain as Aurors. And some of them can't, and they stay anyway.'

Moody smiled grimly. There were about fifty questions Minerva would have liked to ask at that moment, but none of them were appropriate for her orientation on her first day, and she bit her tongue.

'I don't mean to scare you, McGonagall. I just want to impress upon you how seriously one must take this sort of job.'

'Understood, sir.'

'And don't call me "sir"!' barked Moody. 'It's just "Moody." I may be your trainer and supervisor, but here we're equals, McGonagall. Trust and mutual respect is paramount in our Office; last names are universal, and that's why we use them, sans fancy titles and gender designations. Got that?'

'Yes, si-... yes, Moody."

'Good. Now, as I said, a hell of a lot of your training is going to revolve around protective mind games, and not just you protecting yourself from yourself, but also you protecting yourself from enemies. Which brings us to the start of things. By the way, have you got any background in Occlumency?'

It was far and away the strangest morning Minerva had ever spent. Moody spent an entire hour working with Minerva on her thought patterns, then chipped slowly away at the defences she thought she had prepared using Occlumency (she appreciated that, whenever it seemed he was about to encroach on some personal memory, he carefully backed away). Unlike Albus Dumbledore, Moody explained things after-the-fact; he seemed to think that the best lessons were learned from trial-and-error.

'Pay attention, McGonagall!' he barked repeatedly. 'Don't ever give an enemy the opportunity to sneak up on you.'

By lunch time, Minerva was more confused and mentally turned-about than she had ever been in her life, yet Moody was ecstatic.

'But what else should I have expected from the daughter of Aeneas and Alexia McGonagall?' he growled with evident pride. 'By Merlin, if every prospective Auror came in with your level of talent and, more importantly, your _diligence_ , we'd have liberated more than half of eastern Europe on our own already. Albus wasn't bluffing about you, that's for sure.'

'Thanks,' muttered Minerva, embarrassed.

'No need for mortification, McGonagall – you've done a fine job, you've earned some praise, just take it graciously and move on with life. Besides,' added Moody with a wink, 'after lunch, the real work begins.'

* * *

Mental Defences, as it turned out, was just one of many courses Minerva was expected to take, and the only private course. After Minerva had wandered up above ground and bought a decent pasty from a small shop in Westminster, she returned to the bustling underground Wizarding world and was immediately whisked off on a tour around the labyrinthine Ministry by the smug Bartemius Crouch; by the end of an hour and a half of Crouch's commentary (filled, predictably, with much name-dropping and self-aggrandizement), the prospect of further courses was almost welcome to Minerva.

There was Magical Protection, in which a dreary old warlock with a face like a basset hound named Dobbs reviewed defensive and evasive spells and incantations in a crackling voice that evoked tuberculosis. There was Concealment and Disguise, taught by Amelia Bones, whose face was wan and drawn despite her young age; Minerva could only guess that this premature weariness was the result of the Ministry attack the previous summer, but she was both surprised and relieved to see the small but distinct smile that Bones gave her when she entered the classroom for the first time. There was Strategic History, in which Moody paced back and forth in the front of a small seminar room like a caged panther and growled out fascinating anecdotes about battles long past and how they were won. There was Advanced Potions, an entire course on how to concoct antidotes and other magical restoratives – everything short of poisons, which were illegal to use under the Auror Protocol of 1773 – and Minerva found that the subject to be far more enjoyable than it had been in the days when her Potions hours had been spent with Slughorn beaming down upon her with oppressive benevolence and Umbridge giggling in the background. Then there were offensive classes, like Stealth and Tracking (which Boot and Donaghy, two of the older boys, jokingly dubbed 'Spying and Sneaking') and Magical Combat.

Every morning included a personalized, intense mental training with Moody, and Minerva's were twice as long as those of her older peers. Every afternoon was crammed with back-to-back classes and only a few 10-minute breaks. The combination so exhausted Minerva that, for the first three days, she dragged herself out of the Ministry at 5:30 in the afternoon, as Big Ben clanged and clamoured the half hour, and, after searching out some form of sustenance, promptly dropped off to sleep upon reaching her room back in Bloomsbury.

'How're you holding up?' growled Moody with some amusement on Wednesday morning as Minerva stifled a tremendous yawn behind her hand.

'Let's just say I'm seeing less of London after hours than I'd thought,' she replied wearily.

Moody laughed.

'Patience is a virtue, McGonagall,' he quipped, clapping Minerva on the back with one of his solid hands. 'Besides, the other first year is arriving today, so you two can get nice and lost around the city together this weekend.'

As if on cue, a hesitant knock sounded on the door, and a few seconds later, the doorknob turned.

'Hello?' said a soft voice, and a very pretty girl peered around the edge of the door frame. 'Oh! I'm so sorry, I didn't realise...'

'No trouble, come in,' said Moody, striding over to the door and pulling it open for the girl, who bowed her head forward slightly in acknowledgement and stepped nervously across the threshold. 'Well, I'm glad to see you've made it to England in one piece.'

'Oh, yes, it was fine,' said the girl with a relieved smile, her eyes lighting up. 'Everything went just as planned, other than the slight difficulty I had understanding the really sweet guy who met me – Cockney accent, I think, which I'm sure will be great once I get used to it. By the way, until today I had no _idea_ you could traverse an ocean by Portkey; I guess you really do learn something new every day.'

She seemed electrified by a sort of vibrant curiosity that infected even the fatigued Minerva, who involuntarily beamed back.

'And you managed to get your papers transferred easily enough?' Moody asked gruffly, clearly charmed against his will.

'Thank God, yes!' laughed the girl. 'You wouldn't believe what a rotten time the Department back home gave me; I think I would have had a nervous breakdown if you'd grilled me again here, so thanks for not putting me through that."

'That bad?'

'Well,' said the girl with a sly grin, 'let's just say that, other than the magical aspects, I'm pretty sure the security clearance questionnaire the ADOTUS gave me must have been designed by a hyper-paranoid OSS officer.'

Moody snorted with laughter. Minerva wondered what she had just missed.

'McGonagall, this is Akemi Yukawa, our resident American, as you've undoubtedly deduced. Yukawa, this is our other first-year student, Minerva McGonagall, just finishing up her first week here.'

'Pleasure to meet you,' said Akemi Yukawa, her chocolate brown eyes crinkling cheerfully as she shook Minerva's hand.

'And likewise,' replied Minerva, who suddenly realised that she and Jeff had rarely discussed his years in America, and that she had at least a dozen questions swimming about her mind already.

'Well, Yukawa,' coughed Moody, 'McGonagall and I have about another ten minutes of class until it's your turn, so if you wouldn't mind waiting outside...'

'Oh, of course not!' The American witch looked slightly horrified. 'I'm so sorry, please go right ahead, I'll be right out here. Sorry...'

And, with a slightly stricken grimace, she quickly stepped back outside and closed the door behind her.

'Well, I'm feeling optimistic about this already,' said Minerva cheerfully.

'Glad to hear it,' said Moody gruffly. 'Thought you'd get along well, find some common ground somewhere; Merlin knows, at the very least, you're both bloody brilliant. Yukawa there was top of her class at Proctor – absolutely blew everyone else out of the water.'

'What on earth is she doing here, then?' Minerva asked, incredulous. 'Didn't they want her back in the States?'

'Politics, McGonagall.' Moody smiled grimly. 'You'll have to ask her the specifics yourself, but let's just say that the ADOTUS wasn't willing to deal with the public reaction that would have stemmed from taking on a young Asian-American Auror, and a female one at that.'

'ADOTUS...?'

'Auror Department of the United States. They have all sorts of bizarre acronyms over there.'

'For example...?'

'Enough questions!' barked Moody, brandishing his wand with a barely concealed smile. 'Defence now, inquiries later; mental barriers up, and for Merlin's sake, stop thinking about those damn ex-colonies until after class!'

* * *

'Hey, look at this!'

'Ah, the fresh, young, innocent face, you mean?'

'Yeah, that one, the one that Moody hasn't yet scared into a state of unending misery.'

'Budge over, Donaghy, give us a bit of room, mate...'

Minerva and her fellow classmates had just emerged from a gruelling late-morning session of Magical Combat, and she was as eager as the others assembled to meet the newcomer – as eager, she noted ironically, as the boys had been to meet her only a few days ago. Akemi Yukawa was seated on a stone in a rotunda at one end of the Magical Law Enforcement wing, crunching into the skin of an apple as she perused a book with the utmost attention.

'So,' said Boot, sliding onto the bench and grinning at Yukawa, who closed her book politely. 'I see Moody hasn't eaten you alive yet, has he?'

'No, he was actually really nice,' replied Yukawa pleasantly. 'Does he usually tear new trainees to shreds?'

'Merlin, listen to that accent!' sighed Fawcett, dropping down on Yukawa's other side. 'I swear, if all the girls around here sounded like you do...'

'I'm Julian Boot, by the way,' cut in Boot, extending a hand to the bemused American.

'And I'm Ben Fawcett,' added Fawcett quickly. 'And that's Ryan Donaghy over there, but his accent's thicker than yours and a sight more Irish, so tell us if you ever need any translation.'

'Ah, shut up, you,' replied Donaghy calmly, tipping his hat.

'And that's McGonagall over there,' said Boot with a jab of his thumb. 'Minerva McGonagall. Just to let you know, she's bloody smart...'

'One of those _Hogwarts_ people,' said Fawcett with a yawn. 'So be warned, she'll think circles around you, if you don't watch yourself.'

Yukawa, smiling politely, raised a sceptical eyebrow at Minerva, then grinned as Minerva roll her eyes elaborately in response to the boys' teasing.

'And might we ask your name now, miss?' inquired Donaghy. 'Now that we're done displaying our British hospitality...'

'Akemi Yukawa,' replied Yukawa, shaking the hand of each boy with mock solemnity.

'Well, I'll say.' Fawcett whistled. 'That's not like any Yank name I've ever heard before.'

'Just because it's not a WASP name?' Yukawa asked with an edge of annoyance. (No-one knew what a 'WASP' was, and she had to explain.)

'And you're sure you're from the States?' pressed Boot with a devious grin.

'Yes, I'm sure.' Yukawa definitely sounded exasperated by this point. 'Never even been to Japan in my life.'

'Where're you from, then?' Donaghy asked, grinning.

'San Francisco.'

All three boys reacted with whistles and exclamations of excitement.

'Nah, you're kidding!'

'As in, San Francisco, California?'

'What's it like?'

'It's great.' Yukawa shrugged slightly. 'I mean, what do you want to know about it?'

'Well, like... I dunno. The bridge? They really have the bridge? The red one, with all the fog?'

'The Golden Gate Bridge. It was still there, the last time I checked. The fog, too.'

'Wicked.'

'What d'you mean, the last time you checked? You not been back for a while, then?'

'Nope,' replied Yukawa. 'School.'

'Where?'

'Oh, you know...' Yukawa glanced at Minerva quickly, as if asking for help. 'East coast of the U.S.'

'Anywhere we might have heard of?'

'Maybe...'

'What town?'

'Um... Salem?'

'Salem, as in Salem, Massachusetts?'

'Yes...'

'Oh, blimey,' groaned Boot in admiration. 'She's from Proctor. We've got one from Hogwarts, _and_ one from Proctor.'

'Well, I officially feel obsolete,' grumbled Donaghy. 'We'll let you two talk, then, and call us when you're done being all intellectual and high-achieving...'

'Oh,' said Yukawa, her eyes growing wide, 'I didn't mean to... I'm sorry, I...'

'Nah, it's all right.' Boot waved a dismissive hand at Yukawa's crestfallen face. 'I never know what to say to smart witches, anyway. That's why we never talk to McGonagall, at any rate. See you in class.'

And with that, the three boys made their way off down the corridor, their jibes and laughter echoing off the stone corridor walls back to where Yukawa sat, stunned.

'Well, that was unexpected,' she said in a slightly shaky voice as Minerva sat down next to her.

'Don't worry, they'll get over it,' Minerva reassured her. 'They did the same to me my first day here, but they forgave and forgot quickly enough, in my case. Give them a day or two to lick the imagined wounds to their academic egos, and they'll come round.'

Yukawa laughed.

'Do you get that a lot?' she asked Minerva. 'Those sorts of reactions, when people learn that you went to Hogwarts – which, by the way, is really, really impressive...'

'Oh, don't you start, too!' Minerva wrinkled her nose in mock irritation. 'To be honest, actually, this is really the first time I've been around a lot of people who _didn't_ go to Hogwarts, ever since I started there. I don't think _I_ really considered it to be that extraordinary while I was there, just because everyone else sort of took it for granted.'

'I know!' Yukawa had drawn herself upright and was speaking to Minerva with a sort of intense earnestness. 'I feel exactly the same way... I mean, _no-one_ made a big deal out of the fact we were at Proctor while we were there, and it's only now that I'm away from the campus that I'm picking up on any of the anti-elitist rhetoric prevalent in mainstream circles. And I don't mean just here in London, I mean back in the States, too. Actually, it's sort of a pity, because I'm very proud of my alma mater, and I'm sure you are, too...'

'But if you mention it to anyone who _didn't_ go to Proctor or Hogwarts or Yardsley or Beauxbatons, or any of the other well-known wizarding schools, you're taken for a snob,' finished Minerva.

Yukawa nodded vigorous assent.

'Anyway,' she sighed, 'I guess it's sort of weird for me in the first place, just because I'm Muggle-born, so most of my family's friends don't really care. Even my parents... I mean, they're both very smart and went to Cal and all, but neither is Ivy League, so I don't think even _they_ completely understand the cultural stigma that surrounds these types of...'

Yukawa paused.

'I'm getting the feeling you're not understanding a fair amount of what I'm saying.'

'It's fine,' said Minerva quickly, who had been thinking just that. 'I'm still enjoying just listening.'

'No, I'm so sorry, I'll explain... hold on...'

By the time Dobbs appeared in the hallway to croak that class was beginning, Minerva had been given a thorough background in the difference between the Muggle Ivy League universities of the east coast of the United States, and the University of California in the west ('Really, the difference is that Harvard is for rich white boys, while Cal admits both girls _and_ minorities'); on the curious weather patterns, or lack thereof, in San Francisco ('It's a coastal city, so really it's just the same combination of foggy mornings and mildly sunny afternoons all year long, no matter what the season'); and on the relative lack of emphasis on bloodlines in America ('Well, people _sort of_ care, but post-Civil War and the antebellum South, et cetera, the whole idea of any sort of aristocracy really broke down, I guess...'). In addition, Akemi – as the American had invited Minerva to call her, whatever Moody had ordained – could commiserate with Minerva's earlier near-death experiences in London.

'Oh, of course we have cars in the States,' she laughed merrily. 'But, believe me, I nearly got myself run over too, before I remembered that here people drive on the _left_ side of the road.'

* * *

That evening, Minerva helped Akemi move her things into the room down the hall, then offered to show the American around the immediate neighbourhood. Everything about London seemed as alien to Akemi as it had to Minerva when she had first arrived, but even Akemi's Muggle-born, urban upbringing did not stop her from being just as fascinated by the sights and sounds of England's capital.

'And just think of the people who have lived here in Bloomsbury,' Akemi said in awe, as the two sat on a bench in Gordon Square with the sun casting a gold pallor across the white facades of the surrounding terrace houses. 'T.S. Eliot, John Maynard Keynes, Virginia Woolf... Muggle intellectuals,' she added, for Minerva's benefit.

'I'll trust you on that,' replied Minerva, smiling.

'Oh, if you haven't read any Eliot or Woolf, you really should,' insisted Akemi, pulling her book out of her bag and handing it to Minerva. 'My sister's an English major, and she stocked me up on all her favourite British writers – Woolf and Pope and Stevenson and Dickens and the like – when I told her I was going to be stationed in London.'

'Why?' Minerva turned the book, titled _Mrs Dalloway_ , over in her hands.

'Because that's what bibliophiles do... they think you can learn an entire city through great literature alone.' Akemi rolled her eyes slightly in mock exasperation. 'I think my parents would be happier if she went into optometry – eye medicine – like my dad, but my sister always insists that literature is the only discipline left that truly studies the human psyche. Anyway, she _adores_ Woolf. When Woolf killed herself just a few months ago, Mari was somewhat inconsolable.'

'That's terrible.'

'Well, worse for her readers than for Woolf, maybe. I don't know if she had the happiest life. There are always spectres flitting about the peripheries of her novels, at any rate.'

'But to kill yourself... I mean, that's...'

'Bad, of course. But is it really the worst that could happen?' Akemi shrugged. 'I'm not saying it's a _good_ thing, but at least you have some agency until the very end, don't you? That could be just some residual _samurai_ mentality speaking, but really, for all we know, being dead could be rather pleasant.'

'I suppose,' replied Minerva sceptically, having never really pondered such questions. 'Are you religious, then?'

'Oh, vaguely. Spiritual, more.' Akemi raised her eyebrows at Minerva. 'I take it you're not? I was surprised at how generally secular most of the students at Proctor were... I guess I sort of grew up assuming that wizards don't really have religions.'

'Some of them do... I mean, my, er, friend, is Jewish,' Minerva faltered, blushing slightly. 'But he's Muggle-born like you. And American, technically. I'll have to introduce you next time he's in London. So what do you think happens when we die, if there's more to it than becoming ghosts or portraits?'

'You know, I'm not sure. That's the trouble with having a religion that doesn't tell you. Buddhism,' Akemi explained to Minerva, 'and a quirky Japanese-American variety, at that. The most I can make of it is that death is like another shore to which we cross over from the shore of life, although no-one can say what the other shore is like. The _rinban_ at my temple likes to say that, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.'

'That's wise.'

'Well, it helps me cope with the inevitable, at any rate.' Akemi leaned back on the bench. 'I like to think it's true. Anyway, that's enough philosophizing to last me a month. But tell me about Hogwarts! I've heard so many good things about it... like, do you really have a lake with a giant squid...?'

* * *

As the weeks wore on, Minerva learned one thing quickly: Auror training was far more difficult than anything she had ever attempted at Hogwarts.

'McGonagall, for pete's sake, stop being so hard on yourself!' growled Moody one morning in the Lair, as Minerva flung herself into a seat, digging her fingers into her scalp. 'I know you're used to getting the hang of everything in the blink of an eye, but you have to realise that all the progress you've made in the past few weeks is simply remarkable for a witch your age.'

'Then _why_ can't I do this right, Moody?' groaned Minerva. 'It should be the easiest thing in the world for me to control my own brain, and yet for some reason...'

'Oh, please, McGonagall,' Moody laughed. 'Took me at least half a year to figure out the very basics of Occlumency. At the rate you're going, you'll have the details down by Christmas.'

But Minerva was not satisfied, and Akemi could sense this immediately as Minerva met her for lunch in a magically-concealed court just off Parliament Square, before Stealth and Tracking that afternoon.

'Don't tell me, you're still frustrated.'

'I just don't understand why I'm not further along, when I understand all of the principles and have been focusing as hard as I can on doing it right,' sighed Minerva, tapping her wand impatiently against a street lamp post and sending out a stream of angry red sparks as she did so.

'Minerva, seriously, give yourself a break! Look, everyone's learning curve is different, and maybe if you relaxed a little more and didn't worry about it so much...'

'Easy for you to say, Akemi,' pouted Minerva. 'Ben told me that Moody said you've already demonstrated twice this week that Occlumency...'

Fortunately for Akemi, Minerva's owl chose just that moment to drop a letter on Minerva's head. The American witch stroked Aluco's head gratefully as Minerva, still grumbling, pulled the sheaf of parchment from the envelope.

'Oh!' she said cheerfully as Akemi fed Aluco a crust off her sandwich and he soared from her arm. 'It looks like my friend Pomona's just gotten back into the country.'

'Pomona from Hogwarts?'

'Yes.' Minerva skimmed the note over again, her irritation suddenly forgotten. 'She'll be coming through London tonight, arriving by the Ministry's Floo network.'

'Oh, good!' Akemi beamed. 'I'll finally get to meet her in person, after hearing so much about her and all.'

And so it was that, at half past seven that evening, Pomona Sprout and several other young witches and wizards burst from a Ministry grate in the Atrium, at which several friends and family members were waiting.

'Pomona!' shouted Minerva, rushing up to her friend and throwing her arms about her. 'How have you been?'

The witch was leaner than Minerva had ever seen her appear before, and her nose was peeling with a recent sunburn that had left the rest of her body a pinkish tan, but she grinned broadly.

'Fantastic,' she said. 'Minerva, you would not _believe_ the botanical diversity of somewhere like Brazil... it's remarkable. We discovered...'

' _She_ discovered,' interjected a similarly-sunburnt boy, clapping a blushing Pomona on the back in passing.

'Well, all right, then, I discovered this plant with some really unusual properties... but I'll bore you with that later, shall I?'

'By all means, please do,' Minerva grinned, grabbing one of Pomona's bags. 'I think I deserve it, considering the long letters I wrote to you, which were never answered.'

'Oh, that's my fault,' Pomona said apologetically. 'No owl post in Brazil – the rainforest canopy is too thick for owls to be able to track people well at all, and the day we spent on the beach at the very end of the trip was unplanned. I should have told you...'

'No matter, nothing happened that I can't tell you face-to-face. This is Akemi Yukawa, by the way; she's the other first-year in the Auror Office.'

Minerva had been a touch nervous that Pomona and Akemi wouldn't get along, but it turned out that Akemi had enjoyed Herbology in school far more than Minerva ever had. She soon lost the thread of the conversation that her two friends were carrying on about the unusual calming effects of the flower Pomona had discovered in Brazil, and instead enjoyed the sights of London at twilight, when all the lights were just turning on inside the looming buildings silhouetted against a darkening sky.

'By the way, have you heard from Augusta and Jeff?' Pomona added as they crossed Tottenham Court Road into Bloomsbury.

Minerva rolled her eyes as Akemi grinned mischievously.

'Oh, she certainly hears from Jeff on a very regular basis. Plenty of owls being delivered all the time to Miss McGonagall here...'

'Well, it's not like you're an epistolary recluse either, Akemi,' retorted Minerva. 'Although I _was_ thinking we might try to contact him by Floo tonight, Pomona...'

'Would that work?' Pomona furrowed her brow slightly. 'Considering how strict Hogwarts is about its communication outlets, and all.'

'Yeah, but don't you think the Ministry, of all places, would be accepted by whatever system protects its outlets?' Akemi reasoned. 'And our fireplace is technically part of the Ministry's system.'

'Worth a shot, at least,' said Pomona cheerfully.

And so, after the Hogwarts alumnae had returned from dinner at the Leaky Cauldron that evening, they commandeered the fireplace in the downstairs sitting room of the Bedford Square house.

'You're sure Akemi won't mind?' asked Pomona anxiously.

'So long as I don't make this too regular of a habit,' smirked Minerva. 'Ready?'

'When you are.' Pomona paused. 'Do we even know what room he's in? Do we need to know?'

Minerva shrugged, took a pinch of Floo powder from the pot on the mantle piece, and called out, 'Ravenclaw common room!' as she thrust her head into the emerald flames.

There was a loud whooshing noise and Minerva screwed her eyes up against the blast of heat and ashes that blew against her face. Suddenly, a clear voice rang out through the flames:

' _What is the one sound heard by the deaf?_ '

Minerva pondered this for a second.

'Well, the deaf can't hear anything, really. Unless silence counts as a sound...?'

She waited for a second, and then the airy interior of the Ravenclaw common room materialised before her. Jeff was lounging in one of the large sapphire armchairs near the fire, staring at the fireplace in alarm; Minerva could only assume he had been deeply engrossed in the book on his lap before her head had appeared in a flash of green flames.

'Blimey! Minerva?' He tossed the tome onto a nearby sofa and crouching down next to the fireplace. 'How on earth did you...?'

'Experimentation,' said Minerva happily, giving a thumbs-up with one of her distant fists and hoping Pomona could see it back in Bloomsbury. 'Had to get through the password barriers of your common room, but no trouble, other than that.'

'This is so weird,' muttered Jeff, clearly unused to speaking to disembodied heads in the fireplace.

'Well, you'd better try it, if you've got any Floo powder! There are people here who want to see you.'

Jeff raised an eyebrow.

'Well, in that case, I'll see if any of the house-elves can get me some – I'm intrigued.'

'Unless we're pulling you away from your studies?' Minerva joked, nodding towards the book that Jeff had just discarded.

'No,' snorted Jeff. 'I've been immersing myself in Shakespeare for the past hour, procrastinating. So, how do you manage this fireplace thing...?'

A minute or so after Minerva had withdrawn her own head from the Bedford Square fireplace, Jeff's own bewildered face appeared in the grate.

'Pomona!'

'Jeff! Good to see you.' Pomona made as if to hug the head in the fireplace, then seemed to realise that this might not be such a wise idea. 'How have you been?'

'Fine, I guess.' Minerva suspected that he was shrugging, but it was impossible to tell with his shoulders back at Hogwarts. 'Things are as quiet as they ever are during the summer. Merrythought's left for France already; Dippet's escaped to the Isle of Man until school starts back up; Dumbledore's been working me to death, in the best possible way possible; I'm learning Potions about three times faster than I ever did in Slughorn's class; and the long and short of it is, I should be able to take my Healer residency examination just before the deadline in August. But how have things been in Brazil, and Westminster?'

'Brilliant,' replied Pomona, grinning.

'Stressful,' groaned Minerva simultaneously.

Jeff's eyebrows raised.

'I just... never mind,' grumbled Minerva, who didn't feel like going into her academic frustrations with the ever-patient Pomona there. 'The Ministry's a far stranger place than I'd anticipated. We saw Umbridge the other day, by the way.'

'What?' exclaimed both Jeff and Pomona simultaneously.

'Akemi and I did,' clarified Minerva impatiently.

'Someone say my name?' asked Akemi as she entered the room in her slippers and with curlers in her hair.

'Minerva was just saying you met Dolores Umbridge,' Pomona explained, her face scrunched into an uncharacteristic expression of distaste. 'How did _that_ happen?'

'Oh, it was _surreal_ ,' laughed Akemi, pouring herself a glass of water from the pitcher on the counter. 'Moody was just singing Minerva's praises for this Strategic History test she aced, one day in the Atrium, and there's this funny little noise behind us...'

' _Hem, hem_ ,' imitated Pomona and Jeff in unison.

'Exactly,' said Akemi. She took a sip of water, then spat half of it out as she noticed Jeff's head in the flames. 'Oh, hi there!'

Minerva quickly introduced all parties involved, then let the still somewhat flustered American resume her story.

'So, anyway,' continued Akemi, wiping water from her chin, 'we hear that annoying cough from behind Minerva, and she turns around, and my god, it was like two cats bristling at each other. And she sort of sneers at Minerva and says, "Oh, Minerva McGonagall! Fancy seeing you here. Have you met..." What was his name, Minerva? Coriolanus?'

'Something like that,' shrugged Minerva.

'We'll just say it was that, then. "Have you met Coriolanus Fudge? He's a rising star within the framework of the Ministry – he'd be a fine Minister for Magic one day, wouldn't you, Coriolanus? _He'd_ know who to keep in line, and how..." And she kept pawing this poor guy, who looks as dumb as a doorknob, not to mention she kept up that stupid giggle throughout...'

Akemi demonstrated. Pomona stifled a guffaw with her hand.

'And meanwhile, Minerva looks like she's about to breathe fire, until finally Moody, who's been grimacing the entire time – I think stupidity might actually cause him physical pain – says, "Who the hell are you, anyway?" And Umbridge sort of squeaks and hides behind that Fudge person, who blubbers for a moment and then scampers away with Umbridge in tow. So, basically, I think that'll teach her to try to intimidate or impress you again, Minerva. One look from an annoyed Moody is enough to send any sensible person fleeing for Australia, in my opinion.'

'I need to meet this Moody fellow,' said Jeff admiringly.

'Oh, you will, I'm sure,' Minerva assured him with a wave of her hand. 'Some time when you're in London. Just drop by the Auror Office.'

'Brilliant.' Jeff grinned. 'If all the Aurors are anything like Moody and – what's her name? – and Akemi, then it must be a pretty entertaining place.'

'To say the least,' smirked Minerva, remembering the attempts of Fawcett and Boot and Donaghy to create a fireworks display for Akemi only the past week, for American Independence Day. (The entire project had caught fire prematurely, sending blue stars whizzing about the office to the tune of 'The Stars and Stripes Forever,' much to Moody's alternate rage and amusement.)

'They really just let you do that?' Pomona asked, frowning slightly. 'Waltz in like that, I mean, with the heightened security and all?'

'Well, Moody'll let you in if you're a friend of mine. He's a little paranoid, to be sure, but compared to some of the people around the Ministry, he's quite reasonable. And you won't be here until late August, Jeff, so we'll definitely have something figured out by then.'

'That's right, Augusta and Paul's wedding!' Pomona clapped her hands in excitement. 'Oh, that'll be lovely. A bit strange, to think that our friends are already getting married, but still, lovely.'

'Yes,' said Minerva, glancing at Jeff.

'Do either of you have the time?' he asked. 'I should probably get back to studying.'

'Half past ten,' replied Minerva promptly, reading the clock on the mantle above the fireplace.

'Blimey,' groaned Jeff. 'Later than I thought.'

'I'll let you two have a moment to yourself, then,' said Pomona quickly, scrambling to her feet. 'Fantastic to see you again, Jeff!'

'You, too!' he replied. 'And write me when you get back home... I honestly do want to hear all about Brazil.'

Once Pomona had left the room, Minerva leant down close to the fireplace.

'You obviously haven't told her yet,' Jeff muttered.

'Jeff, she only got here a few hours ago. And besides, is it really something you want to make public yet?'

'Not something I feel _needs_ to be public, but she's one of our closest friends...' Jeff frowned. 'You don't think your parents would disapprove, do you?'

'No, no, of course not, it's just...' Minerva sighed. 'I mentioned to you before that I'd like to wait a little longer before we actually formalize things, and now that I'm here, doing what I feel like I've always been meant to do, I can't imagine having to leave it to settle down and raise a family and such. I'd like a few more years, at least, to really help out with the current state of things in whatever way I can.'

'Well, OK.' Jeff sighed melodramatically with a devious grin. 'I suppose wanting to save the world before worrying about marriage is a reasonable enough excuse. As long as you don't shut me off completely, I can live with that.'

Minerva smiled and leaned forward as if to embrace the flames, then caught herself and pulled back before she was singed.

'I won't,' she said. 'Believe me, right now I feel like August can't come soon enough. Now, you get back to studying. I'll write to you soon, and I'll see you in a few weeks.'


	17. Angst and Anxiety

Akemi hadn't expected to see Minerva at the Auror Office that Monday, so she did a double-take when the Scottish witch wandered almost absentmindedly through the door of their small office and slid into her chair.

'You're back,' she said in surprise. Minerva yawned in response. 'You know, if you want to sneak out now, I told Moody you probably wouldn't be in today – you could go catch up on sleep.'

'No, no, I have to prepare for this exam,' sighed Minerva, half-heartedly pulling a thick tome on wizarding strategic battle history across her desk and flipping through it without really absorbing anything. Akemi watched her with raised eyebrows for a few seconds.

'It's not for another four weeks, Minerva,' she said, reacting with no surprise when Minerva ignored her, then gently reaching over and shutting the cover of the book with a grin.

'OK, go ahead and study if you want, Professor McGonagall,' she teased, 'but first tell me all about the wedding. If you're not too hung-over, that is.'

'I absolutely am not,' Minerva snapped, leaning back in her chair and rubbing her eyes.

'Late night, though?' Akemi smiled innocuously. 'How's Jeff?'

Minerva rolled her eyes.

'Fine, and it was lovely to see him, as always.'

'I'm sure it was,' replied Akemi. 'And Pomona? Oh, you said she'd said she'd have to leave a day early, though, didn't you. You did say hi to her for me, though, I hope? And you got to see Augusta and… shoot, just forgot her now-husband's name…'

'Paul,' Minerva answered. 'I won't tire you with every gory detail of the wedding, but it was very nice. Augusta's family comes from quite a bit of money, so it was considerably more elaborate than one would expect in this economy; lots of curious blue-haired aunts and uncles wanting to know who we all were and where we were from, and of course I couldn't say a word about what I did for a living, but it was still nice to see the old Hogwarts crowd.'

'Of course.' Akemi sighed a bit and tickled the end of her nose with the tip of her quill. 'God, I can't wait to go home for Christmas. I miss all my friends back in San Francisco, and my family. And avocados. Never thought I would miss California-grown avocados so much, but there you go.'

'What, are our pasties and puddings not good enough for you?' joked Minerva. 'When are you heading home?'

'Moody's not letting me go until two days before Christmas,' Akemi said far too cheerfully. 'Mean man, that Moody. By the way, was Albus Dumbledore there this weekend?'

'Yes, he was. Why?'

'Nothing. I was just chatting with Moody after you left on Friday, and he started speculating whether or not you'd run into Albus Dumbledore while you were there. He was your professor at Hogwarts, right?'

'Mmhm.'

'Wow.' Akemi stared dreamily into space. 'I can't believe you know Albus Dumbledore. You've never told me much about him...'

'I never knew you'd be interested,' replied Minerva. 'How do you know about him?'

'I wrote an essay on the twelve uses of dragon blood at Proctor,' Akemi explained. 'Absolutely ingenious, Dumbledore. What's he like in person?'

'What's he like in person?' Minerva repeated. She exhaled slowly and pensively. 'Merlin. It's hard to explain. He's unabashedly brilliant, but not overly arrogant about it. He can be utterly terrifying, but otherwise he's extremely forgiving of errors. He's one of the most interesting people I've ever met, and even though I almost got him sacked once, he still really likes me. Funny person, Dumbledore.'

Akemi's mouth was hanging open slightly.

'You almost got him _fired_?' she said finally.

'It's a long story,' said Minerva quickly. 'Anyway, you'll have to meet him some time.'

'Oh, wow.' Akemi shifted in her seat. 'Gosh, I don't think I could. I just know I'd say something really stupid. I mean, Moody already thinks I'm a lunatic, and if _Albus Dumbledore_ …'

'Moody does _not_ think you're a lunatic,' Minerva said firmly. 'For heaven's sake, Akemi, he thinks you're brilliant, and you must be blind if you don't realise that.'

'Does he?' Akemi frowned slightly. 'Well, maybe I…' She paused.

'Yes?' Minerva raised an eyebrow.

'Never mind,' said Akemi reflectively. 'Hm.'

After a few moments of pondering something beyond the confines of the office, the American witch glanced over at Minerva, who was staring at a page of her book blearily, clearly not absorbing a word she read.

'Minerva McGonagall, get out of here,' Akemi said exasperatedly, tugging the book away from Minerva. 'If you really insist, take that monstrosity home with you, but for Pete's sake, get some rest before you try to learn anything.'

Minerva nodded distractedly and shuffled out of the office with the book under her arm. Akemi watched her in relaxed amusement, then straightened abruptly as Moody poked his head around the door frame.

'Did I just see McGonagall walk out of here, looking like the walking dead?' he asked, smirking.

'I wouldn't say she's _quite_ that decrepit,' said Akemi, glancing down the notes she was reviewing as Moody swept into the office like a benevolent hurricane and settled into Minerva's chair.

'Well, I'm glad you convinced her to go home before she worked herself to that point.' Moody put his feet up on Minerva's desk and looked at Akemi, who was furrowing her brow over some detail of the Gremlin Uprising of 1759. Tacked to the wall above her desk was a carefully-drawn calendar, a Muggle photograph of her with her siblings by the Golden Gate Bridge, and a quote written in neat handwriting on card paper.

' "Our government conceived in freedom and purchased with blood can be preserved only by constant vigilance," ' read Moody off the wall.

'I needed some aphorism or another to keep up my morale during all this,' explained Akemi, sitting back and meeting Moody's gaze. 'You know, on all the days when Churchill and FDR aren't vowing to preserve world peace and universal liberty. Never thought a good motivational quote would come from William Jennings Bryan, of all people, but my dad says it never hurts to take good advice, wherever one can find it.'

' "Preserved only by constant vigilance," ' muttered Moody under his breath. 'I like it. What's this that Churchill's done now?'

'You haven't heard about the Atlantic Charter yet? Honestly, Moody, don't you ever read Muggle newspapers?'

'That's what I've got you for, isn't it?' Moody grinned, his beady dark eyes twinkling mischievously. 'McGonagall keeps me updated on the wizarding news from the _Prophet_ ; you make sure I'm informed about all the goings-on in the Muggle world that _The Economist_ and _The New Statesman_ see fit to print. Between the two of you, all I need to do to finish my job is deal with the Minister for Magic every day and ask Dumbledore for a word of advice every now and again.'

'How is it that everyone around here knows Albus Dumbledore except for me?' laughed Akemi. 'Minerva says she just saw him at her friend's wedding.'

'Ah, stay around long enough and I'm sure you'll run into him at some point or another, Yukawa.' Moody scratched his head. 'Remind me again when I'm letting you go home?'

'Not until December 23,' Akemi reminded him with a slight pout. 'Believe me, you'd better have something really good lined up for me and Minerva come 1942, if you're scheduling our last exams so late in the year; otherwise I just might not be able to drag myself away from the sunny beaches of California.'

'Well,' replied Moody with a grumbling bark of a laugh, 'I think I'll be able to lure you back to this side of the Atlantic, somehow.' He paused and glanced from Akemi to the quote above her head. ' "Constant vigilance." Hm.'

'Oh yes, and now that you've begun hinting, please don't reveal a word of your scheming, Moody; I so enjoy the suspense.'

'Merlin, McGonagall's sarcasm is rubbing off on you,' groaned Moody, pushing Minerva's chair away from the desk and swinging his legs off the desk. 'Yukawa, I'm not saying a word about what I've got planned for you and that industrious but snarky Scot. However, if you're willing to abandon your studies for an hour or two to fill me in on Churchill's latest shenanigans over a cup of tea, I might be willing to share with you a Dumbledore story or two.'

'You're incorrigible,' said Akemi, blushing slightly as she carefully closed her book and tipped it back into its place on her shelf.

'No, I'm older and wiser than you,' corrected Moody as he held the door open for Akemi. 'And I'm not daft enough to make you and McGonagall any promises, when who knows what might happen between now and December 23.'

* * *

To absolutely no-one's surprise, Jeff passed his NEWTs with flying colours and wrote to Minerva to inform her that he was moving to London to begin practical training at St. Mungo's.

'He claims that, in all likelihood, it's because Dumbledore pulled a few strings, but I think he's being ridiculous.' Minerva sighed in mock frustration and leant back in her chair. 'If anyone could wrangle a position in such a prestigious Healer training program on his own, it's Jeff.'

'No doubt,' rasped Aeneas, smiling slightly. It was a sunny Saturday morning in September, and when the Healers had sent Alexia an urgent owl the previous night to inform her that her husband had regained his powers of speech, she had sent the same owl straight back to her daughter in London. Now, Minerva was well into her second hour of detailing all her recent news to her father, just for the pleasure of hearing him respond.

'Well, however he got it, it means we're here together, at least,' said Minerva cheerfully. 'I think he'd like to see you, if you don't mind, Dad. He has very fond memories of visiting us that summer.'

'Of course, please do bring him around. After all, he'll be working only a few wards away.' Aeneas searched Minerva's face carefully. 'You really do love him, don't you.'

Minerva blushed. 'I suppose I do.'

'Well, good. Anxious as I think every father must be when his daughter goes off to make her mark on the world, it takes a load off my mind to know that mine has a good man to make her happy and keep her out of too much trouble.' Aeneas coughed suddenly, and Minerva made towards him in concern, but he shook his head ever so slightly. 'Don't worry about me, my dear. I'm just a bit out of practice phonating.'

For not the first time that day, Minerva brushed a tear from where it trickled over her smile.

'Everyone will be so excited,' she sniffed. 'No doubt Moody'll want to come see you at some point, once he hears.'

Aeneas shut his eyes.

'Ah, Moody. Well, if you can find some way to distract him for a few days before he comes barrelling in here, I'd appreciate it, Minerva. Merlin knows, he's one of the best men I have the pleasure of calling my friend, but he's about as relaxing as a hornet at a picnic.'

Minerva laughed.

'Do you think…?' She paused. 'You know, Amelia Bones, Dad?'

'Of course I know Amelia. How is she doing?'

'You remember she'd survived, then.'

'My dear, you have to realise that I've understood everything being said around me for the past year, even if I couldn't _reply_ to a simple yes-or-no question. Most frustrating year of my life, I must say, to hear your mum tell me all about the horrors occurring at Hogwarts, and not even be able to express my own outrage or concern or sympathy.'

'Oh, Dad.' Minerva reached out to take her father's hand before remembering that he wouldn't feel it if she did.

'Well, it's all over now, thank goodness. But of course I would remember anything you'd told me about Amelia,' Aeneas continued, a pained expression skittering over his face. 'The first few weeks after I'd regained consciousness, I kept reliving that battle in my head over and over, without being able to move or say anything about it to other people. When I heard that Moody and Bones had survived and were doing fine… well, it brought quite a lot of consolation, I have to say. Do you see her around the office much?'

'Yes, she teaches my Concealment and Disguise course.' Minerva thought about Amelia Bones, who barely said anything to anyone anymore outside of class, diligently doing her work and listening to requests without looking directly at the speaker. When she left the office, if she saw Minerva watching, she would shoot her a small smile, but she never stopped to chat with colleagues on her way out. According to Donaghy and Boot, Moody had long since given up on trying to make her tell him what was wrong. 'She seems very lonely.'

Aeneas raised his eyebrows.

'Bones, lonely? She used to be one of the most talkative people at the Ministry.'

'It's almost as if the attack damaged her psychologically, Dad, worse than we can understand. And you know how Moody is not one for, er, discussions that belie any sort of emotional vulnerability.'

'Indeed,' snorted Aeneas.

'I don't know if it'd be too soon, but do you think you could talk to her?' Minerva asked. 'I think she wants to talk about it, but the only person who could understand her won't.'

'How very astute of you, Minerva.' Aeneas smiled with pride at his daughter. 'Yes, please do send her my regards and let her know I'd gladly have a word with her, if she'd be willing.'

'Excuse me,' said a young Healer, poking her head around the door frame, 'Mrs McGonagall to see you.'

'That'll be Mum,' said Minerva, leaping to her feet. 'I'll let you two have a moment alone; I told my flatmate I'd be back soon, anyway.'

'Thank you so much for coming to see me, Minerva.' Her father's voice cracked a bit for a reason seemingly unrelated to his recent recovery. 'I… can't say how much it's meant to me. That you came even when I could only move my eyes, you know, and talked to me like I was a regular human being.'

Minerva held back a sob.

'You were and are a regular human being, Dad,' she said stubbornly. 'I'll be back some time next week, all right?'

Outside the room, Alexia rose to her feet as Minerva dashed into the hallway in tears.

'Minerva, dear, are you all right?' she asked, putting a tentative hand on her daughter's arm.

'Yes,' gasped Minerva. 'Yes, I'm fine, Mum. It's just so nice to hear him speak again, that's all.'

'I know.' Alexia wrapped Minerva in a tight hug for a long moment, then let her go. 'I know. I'd better go in. But you're doing well?'

'Oh, well enough. A bit under the weather lately, but I'm hoping it'll pass.'

'Hm.' Alexia scrutinized Minerva carefully. 'Well, take care of yourself, dear. Merlin knows, I'm glad you're not allowed to tell me what sorts of insane things Alastor's been making you do at work – I'm sure I don't want to know. I'll be back in town next weekend; do you think you'll be able to spare an hour for lunch?'

'Absolutely.' Minerva tried to sound cheerful, although she was beginning to feel a bit queasy for at least the third time that week; she resolved to herself to go home and rest, no matter what exploratory plans Akemi had for the day.

Alexia held Minerva at arm's length for a long moment, then smiled.

'You really have grown up, haven't you. All right, I'll see you in a few days, then, dear.'

* * *

Akemi, curled in an armchair by the window, was writing a letter when Minerva appeared back in the Bloomsbury house.

'There you are!' the American witch exclaimed, tossing her letter aside onto the coffee table. 'I was just about to go for a walk in Regent's Park, and I thought I would at least wait until you came back to see if you wanted to come with…'

'I really shouldn't,' sighed Minerva, sitting down. 'I've been feeling nauseous all morning.'

Akemi frowned.

'Should you get that checked out? It's not really flu season, but god knows you can get a stomach virus or food poisoning any time of year…'

'I have no idea what you're talking about,' grumbled Minerva.

'Why does the wizarding community know _nothing_ about grade school-level science?' Akemi sighed impatiently. 'Here, go to bed and I'll bring you a cup of tea.'

By the time Akemi returned from her walk, smelling of fresh breeze and cut grass, Minerva was out of bed and skimming through her Strategic History notes.

' _Minerva_ ,' scolded Akemi as she pulled off her shoes.

'I feel fine now!' Minerva argued back. 'Really, I do, Akemi. Stop worrying about me.'

'If you really are sick, you're not going to make a full recovery unless you rest an adequate amount!' Akemi pointed out.

'I don't even know if I am sick!' retorted Minerva. 'Don't people sometimes react strangely to seasonal changes?'

'Are many Londoners subject to hay fever at the waning of an average summer?'

Minerva scowled and turned a page with such unnecessary vigour that she tore the edge slightly. Akemi folded her arms and regarded Minerva for a long moment.

'Well, it's technically none of my business,' she said finally, 'but you don't think you might be expecting, do you?'

'What?' said Minerva, straightening up suddenly in her chair and staring at Akemi.

'Again, it's not my business, and I'm not saying you are…'

'Of – of course I'm not,' sputtered Minerva. 'That's impossible.'

Akemi raised an unconvinced eyebrow.

'Impossible?' she asked. 'Or, excuse the pun, inconceivable?'

Immediately Akemi regretted what she'd said, as Minerva, who normally would have rolled her eyes at Akemi's terrible sense of humour, instead flinched slightly.

'Oh, Minerva,' she sighed, walking over to stand next to Minerva's desk. 'I'm not saying that's what's going on; it's probably just some bug that you'll get over in a few days.'

'Yes,' said Minerva in a tight voice, staring straight ahead. 'If you'll excuse me for a moment…'

And without another word, she dashed from the room. Akemi considered following after her for a moment, decided against it, and retreated back to the armchair by the window. She did not look up from her letter until she heard the creak of the floorboards as Minerva returned to the drawing room.

'What would I do, Akemi?' she said dully, settling down in a chair opposite as Akemi put her letter aside again. 'It would completely change everything I've been planning for the next decade or so.'

' _Minerva_ , calm down,' said Akemi firmly. 'I'm sorry I started speculating aloud. Look, if that is what's going on, talk to Jeff about it and figure out if you're ready to settle down together; but the odds are equally good that you're just sick and need to spend a weekend genuinely relaxing.'

'But, but what about my exams?' stammered Minerva, unconsciously placing a hand over her abdomen as she stared at her flatmate. 'What about my whole career at the Ministry…?'

'Oh, Moody would let you stay on as an analyst, at the very least,' scoffed Akemi, waving a hand impatiently. 'For the first few years, I'm sure. He values your brain too much to not keep you on in some capacity or another, even if he probably wouldn't let you go careening about Europe with an infant at home.'

'Merlin,' sighed Minerva, sinking into a chair near the fireplace and gazing at the stones where flames would normally be. 'All this studying for a desk job. Not exactly the glamorous life I had in mind, going into this.'

Akemi reached over and squeezed Minerva's arm.

'Hey,' she said comfortingly. 'Don't count your chickens before they're hatched, right? Really, rest up this weekend and see if you feel better next week. If it's nothing, it's nothing, and if it's not… well, you'll figure that out when the time comes.'

* * *

'Are you serious?'

Minerva was on the verge of bursting into tears, but she willed herself not to.

'Yes, I am,' she said quietly, squeezing Jeff's hand.

It was a lazy afternoon in early October; wind ruffled the hats and scarves of the Londoners riding on the tops of buses in Piccadilly, and children took advantage of what remaining sunlight was left to them after school to throw breadcrumbs at the swans on the Serpentine before the afternoons became too dark and chilly. Jeff had arrived in London several weeks earlier, but his training had begun immediately and with such intensity that he and Minerva had only seen each other only a handful of times in London. Minerva, for her part, was exhausted from the end of her exams, and her bouts of morning nausea had only intensified, no matter how much rest she allowed herself to have; but she had insisted that Jeff meet her that quiet afternoon at the Leaky Cauldron for an early dinner.

'God.' Jeff leaned back in his chair, stunned. 'Well, that was not news I was expecting to hear today.'

'I thought I should tell you sooner rather than later,' began Minerva defensively, but Jeff quickly smiled and squeezed her hands back.

'And I'm glad you did,' he reassured her. 'Really, I am. It's just taking a moment to sink in.'

Minerva laughed raggedly.

'I know. It's going to change a lot for me.'

'For us,' Jeff insisted firmly, and Minerva smiled at him through her exhaustion. 'We're absolutely in this together, Minerva, come what may. No doubt this will affect your work, though… have you told Moody yet?'

'No,' admitted Minerva. 'I don't think I will until it's evident.'

'But don't you think he has the _right_ to know…?'

'It's my life, Jeff, and my body, too,' snapped Minerva, pulling her hands away abruptly. 'I want to prove to him that I can do my share of the work so that he'll agree to keep me on ultimately, even if I won't be able to do any field work until much later on, once… once our child is off at school.' Minerva had thought about it before, but she had never voiced those particular words, and they wrenched her emotionally more than she had expected. 'Just… just let me deal with it all on my own terms. I need to show him that I can match any task he wants to give me, until I'm physically incapable of doing so.'

Jeff still looked somewhat shocked, but his face softened into a smile.

'Our child,' he repeated after her, leaning back pensively. 'Merlin, it's incredible to hear you say that. Pity there's no practical training in parenting… it seems like it'd be a thousand times more useful than Healing, at the moment.'

Minerva laughed shakily. Jeff paid for both their meals, and the two exited the pub into Diagon Alley, arm in arm.

'But really, don't let Moody do anything too drastic to you,' warned Jeff as they strode along the cobblestone street, looking into shop windows without taking much in. 'Dumbledore's alluded to some of the mad things he has students do in combat training, and I don't want either of you getting hurt. Plenty of time for that later.'

'At least I'll have you to patch me up if I get into any serious scrapes, won't I?' Minerva pointed out, but Jeff shook his head.

'I'm serious, Minerva. I know you like to push yourself to your limits, but you've got to think about the baby, too.'

'Yes…' Minerva snuggled closer to Jeff as a gust of chilly air riffled down Diagon Alley.

'And I'm sure Moody knows what you're worth, by now,' Jeff added. 'Not that I've met the man, but I hear he's anything but an idiot, which must mean he'd rather lose an eye than your abilities, at this point. I don't think you need to worry about a few years off work.'

'I know,' sighed Minerva. 'But that's part of what's going to make this so hard, is that I'm so fond of everyone at the Auror Office by now. I'll miss them.'

'You won't be gone for very long,' Jeff reassured her. 'And you'll still be just as valuable in analysis. Plus, on a purely selfish level, I won't lose sleep worrying about you risking your life out there as much, what with the war going on and all.'

'Oh, you'll be busy enough with your years of Healer training,' laughed Minerva.

'No reasonable man is ever too busy to worry about his wife,' said Jeff seriously, and Minerva stopped laughing. 'I know I asked you once before, Minerva, but…'

'And my answer is still yes,' replied Minerva. Her attempt at her customary matter-of-fact demeanour nearly succeeded, except that a radiant smile lit up her face as she turned to face her fiancé. 'And it always will be yes, and I'd have thought you'd have known that.'

Jeff kissed her, beaming, then kissed her again, and they both laughed.

'So maybe the timing is a bit sooner than either of us had expected, but it's what I've dreamt of,' he said as they continued down the alleyway in the autumn sunlight. 'To live together, and to raise a family, and to never be separated till death do us part.'

* * *

Minerva knew she was being unfair to Moody in not telling him about her impending hiatus, but she never seemed able to find the right moment, for all Akemi's gentle hints. (Sorry as she was to be leaving the comfortable Bloomsbury flat, whenever Jeff found a place for them to live, Minerva knew she would not miss her friend's infuriating demand for Minerva to at least handle things responsibly.) But finally, in mid-November, the day came when one of Moody's ridiculous eccentricities got the better of the whole situation.

'Now, I know this is highly illegal, McGonagall, but you should know how it feels,' growled Moody sternly in one of Minerva's private coachings, as he rolled up the sleeves of his robes. 'Especially in times like these, you never know when you might face the Cruciatus Curse, and I want you to understand exactly what it's all about before you come across it unexpectedly. I promise this will be extremely short and… well, I can't say painless, exactly, but it will be very, very brief, and not long enough to inflict any lasting…'

'Moody, I can't,' Minerva burst out before her instructor said any more.

Moody blinked, accustomed to Minerva gritting her teeth and getting work of any sort done.

'I know it doesn't sound all that appealing,' he said, in what was obviously an attempt at a soothing tone of voice, 'but I'd rather you get your first dose of that level of pain from someone who you know isn't actually going to hurt you…'

'I've been hit by the curse before, Moody. I know what it feels like. And I'm sorry, but I just can't deal with it right now.' Minerva sat down with her arms wrapped protectively around her middle, not looking at her instructor.

Moody stared for a moment, then put his wand into his back pocket and knelt down next to the distraught witch.

'You've been hit by the Cruciatus Curse before?' he said in a low voice laced with concern. 'Who?'

'I don't feel like going into details,' snarled Minerva, seething with fury as Tom Riddle's jeering laugh rang in her ears.

'Bloody hell,' muttered Moody, who hated to see McGonagall looking so vulnerable and upset. 'Well, I'm sorry to hear that, McGonagall, I really am. If you're feeling unduly under pressure right now, we can stop now, and you can go home…'

'I appreciate it, Moody, but I haven't been perfectly straight with you.' Minerva sighed deeply, still unable to look her instructor in the face. 'I'm going to have to… er, take a short break from my training soon.'

'What?' barked Moody, more in alarm than in anger. 'You're not seriously ill, are you, McGonagall? I'd have thought that Yukawa would have reined you in from stressing yourself to that level, damn it. Don't forget, your health comes first, at all times, unless London is under direct attack! Constant vigilance, McGonagall, constant vigilance!'

'I'm _fine_ , Moody,' Minerva said loudly over the anxious Auror. 'I've just… run into an unexpected circumstance. And I won't be able to take any direct hits from hexes for the next nine months or so.'

Minerva knew she was overestimating, but that precise time interval got the point across to Moody, who paused, stared at her with his jaw slightly agape, and then raised his eyebrows in amazement.

'Well, I never,' she heard him mumble under his breath as he scratched at one grizzled temple. 'Do your parents know?'

'Not yet, but they know him,' Minerva retorted, irritated that Moody was treating her like the schoolgirl she had not been for the past several months. 'Let me deal with my parents, Moody.'

'I had no intention of saying anything to them,' said Moody defensively, raising his hands and still visibly annoyed.

'Look, Moody, I wasn't expecting this,' she said. 'Believe me, this is not the timing I would have chosen, either, but what's done is done.'

'I can see that,' grumbled Moody. 'Listen, what you do is your own business, McGonagall, and I'm not going to scold you for some youthful indiscretions, Merlin knows. But you have to understand, I'd been counting on you being there if anything went really awry at the Ministry, and now I'll have to rethink _everything_ having to do with our national security for the next year or so…'

'Boot and Donaghy and…'

'I don't need you to remind me of the personnel I have on hand, McGonagall,' snapped Moody. 'The bare truth of the matter is that the boys are all very competent lads, but they don't come near you and Yukawa in terms of instinct, and as much as I trust Yukawa, I'd much rather have you around, too.'

'Moody, I _will_ be around, if you'll let me!' Minerva shouted, hoping she didn't sound too desperate. 'Give me a desk job doing analysis; I'll finish all but my practical training now, and I'll be just as useful to you here as I would be abroad, I promise you…'

'You can't just bring a baby in a perambulator into the Auror Office, McGonagall!' Moody shouted back at her. 'Christ, if the Ministry were attacked again, what would you _do_?'

There was a ringing silence as the two Aurors glared at each other across the office, both fuming. Then a polite knock at the door eased the tension infinitesimally.

'Come in,' growled Moody through gritted teeth.

And into the office, to Minerva's shock, swept Albus Dumbledore.

'Good afternoon, Alastor,' said the lavender-clad newcomer serenely, closing the door behind him. 'Minerva, what an unexpected pleasure! I hope you've been well?'

Moody let out a bitter 'ha!' of laughter.

'I'll let her explain all that herself,' he snarled, stomping toward the door to his office. 'Albus, I need to get some fresh air; come along, if you want to watch me growl at the ducks at St James's Park.'

'Actually, I'd only just arrived and was hoping to get a bite to eat,' said Dumbledore pleasantly. 'I, for one, try not to make a habit out of growling at hapless waterfowl, and when I become too famished, I often find myself doing just that. Shall I meet you back here in an hour, then?'

Moody nodded jerkily and slammed the door behind him. Minerva stared after him, her lips pressed tightly together and angry red blotches still blazing on her cheeks.

'Dear me, Alastor's acting like you've managed to cross some Rubicon or another,' said Dumbledore, smiling down at Minerva in an avuncular fashion. 'I hope you haven't just handed in your resignation?'

'Nearly as bad,' muttered Minerva, rising from her chair finally. 'Although I suppose it's a good sign that he hasn't outright sacked me yet.'

Dumbledore laughed and held the door open for Minerva.

'Good heavens, I shouldn't think so… not the way he goes on about your progress whenever he thinks to send me an owl. Give him an hour to cool off, I'm sure things will be fine. Have you had lunch yet?'

Within a quarter hour, Minerva found herself seated with Dumbledore at a local pub, robes temporarily Transfigured to a sensible black dress and a rather flamboyant lavender suit. Minerva was shocked at how instinctively she revealed details about her personal life to her former professor, but Dumbledore listened with the greatest attentiveness and only sat back pensively when Minerva had finished talking.

'Hmm,' he hummed with a tranquil smile. Minerva noticed that the older wizard's auburn beard was more streaked with gray than she had remembered it. 'Well, I suppose first things first – my most sincere congratulations to you both, and I mean that from the bottom of my heart.'

'Thank you,' said Minerva, who hadn't realised how much she needed Dumbledore's gracious smile of support until he had given it.

'And have you told your parents about it yet?'

'Not yet, no. I don't know if I should tell them before or after the wedding.'

'You don't expect them to be angry, do you?' Dumbledore said as he took a sip of water.

Minerva shrugged.

'I know they like Jeff, and I don't think either of them had any grand plans to marry me off to the scion of some wealthy, established wizarding family. But I can't help but imagine they might think I'm acting impulsively, what with the war raging on and all…'

'And why should the war make your impulses any more foolish?' said Dumbledore quietly. 'Isn't it all the more reasonable to be with those you love, when the probability of death is that much higher?'

'I suppose so.' Minerva sighed. 'Then do I have permission to back my case by telling them that _you_ don't think it's a foolish idea to get married and start a family in the midst of all this?'

'I'm flattered you'd consider me such a moral authority,' said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. 'And indeed, I have to admit that, especially in times like these, I'm glad to know there's just a little more love in the world.'

Against the gloomy gray November light filtering through the dirty pub window, professor and student smiled at each other in tacit solidarity.

'But, for what an aging wizard's humble opinion is worth,' Dumbledore added, 'I think you should tell your parents before the wedding. I was planning on paying your father a visit, if I can make it to St. Mungo's before I return to Hogwarts, but I think he'd prefer to hear about all this from you than from me.'

Just then, the disgruntled form of Moody stormed around the corner opposite and, espying Minerva and Dumbledore in the window of the pub, made towards it. Minerva recoiled a bit in apprehension, but Dumbledore continued to look as calm as ever.

'Ah, you've found us,' said Dumbledore jovially as Moody stomped into the pub to the tinkle of the bell tied to the door handle.

'Yeah, well, you weren't doing much to hide.' Moody offered a lopsided smile and turned to Minerva, who was staring resolutely at the table top. 'Look, McGonagall, I'm sorry I exploded like I did back there. Of course I'd want to have you around, if you're willing to stay on as an analyst. Merlin knows, I could have used you in the field, but…' Moody exhaled slowly, as if to will himself not to erupt again. 'Well, life goes on. So that's settled, then?'

'Yes, sir,' said Minerva quietly, still looking at the table top as her heart lifted considerably.

'For the last time, McGonagall, don't you dare "sir" me!' growled Moody. 'Now, get back to the office; I need to have a private word here with Dumbledore.'

As Minerva rose from her seat and Moody took her place, she saw Dumbledore give her a tiny wink, which she returned with a grin before exiting out into the cold.

* * *

'Don't be silly, Minerva; of course I'll miss having you around!'

Minerva had had no idea that packing all of her things would take so much time, but at long last all her belongings had been collected from the corners of the Bloomsbury flat and crammed into various suitcases and valises. Akemi stood in the middle of the sitting room, looking glumly around at the comparatively empty space.

'But I'll come visit,' Minerva promised sheepishly. 'And you'll have to come visit us in Stratford; it's not a very large house, but it'll be perfect for us, it's right near a Tube station, and once you've got your Apparition certification…'

'Well, don't count on that being any time soon,' laughed Akemi sadly. 'But I am excited for you, I really am.'

Minerva hadn't realised how attached she had grown to the Bedford Square house until tonight, her last residing within its walls. She and Akemi stayed up late talking by the fire as wintery winds whipped past the building's façade, until Akemi (who was much more of an early-to-bed sort than Minerva) could barely keep her eyes open and both witches retreated to their respective bedrooms.

Later, Minerva would recall that she had been dreaming about something that seemed highly important and relevant, when a shriek woke her the next morning. Heart racing, Minerva pulled on her tartan dressing gown and padded down the hall in her slippers.

Akemi was seated in a chair in the dining hall, her eyes wide and her hands shaking slightly so that the newspaper she held rattled.

'Are you all right?' Minerva asked, taking a hesitant step forward. 'Akemi?'

Akemi mutely handed Minerva the Muggle newspaper, where Minerva read that the Hawai'ian port of Pearl Harbour had been bombed by the Japanese.

'I need to get to a telephone,' said Akemi rising suddenly. 'I'm going out.'

'Wait, Akemi! What's going on?'

'My country's just been attacked, that's what's going on,' snapped Akemi, pulling on her coat and gloves. 'I need to find a telephone box and call my parents to make sure they're safe.'

'But… they're in California, aren't they?' ventured Minerva, confused.

'Along with decades of barely-contained anti-Japanese sentiment,' said Akemi bitterly as she buckled her shoes. 'I'll be right back.'

Minerva, bewildered, sat down to read the papers more thoroughly over a cup of tea. A few minutes later, she heard a knock on the door and opened it to let Jeff in out of the chilly air.

'How are you today?' he asked, giving her a quick kiss that left Minerva's nose cold where his had brushed it.

'Better than American morale, I'm sure,' said Minerva grimly, passing Jeff the paper, which he skimmed and then tossed onto the table with a muttered oath.

'Feels like life will never be simple again, will it?' he spat bitterly.

'I don't know if it ever was,' she replied, sitting down at the table as Jeff stormed over to the window and stood looking out of it with his arms crossed across his chest.

For a few moments, nothing could be heard but the steady ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway.

'Where's Akemi?' asked Jeff finally.

'She went out to find a telephone, to call her family. Should you be getting in touch with any of your mum's family…?'

'Nah, other than a few distant cousins who wouldn't know me from Adam, we haven't got any family left there,' muttered Jeff distractedly. He paused, stricken, then ran his hand through his hair. ' _I_ haven't got any family left there, I mean. Since, for all I know, my uncle and sister are dead somewhere back in Czechoslovakia…'

'You don't know if that's true,' said Minerva soothingly, standing and moving towards the window. 'Be reasonable about this, Jeff. I know people say it's best to assume the worst, but don't give up all hope yet.'

Jeff nodded stiffly, his back still turned to Minerva; then, in one motion, he turned and seized her in his arms, burying his nose in her hair.

'I don't know what I'd do without you,' he murmured. 'Really, I don't.'

They were still standing by the window when the door clicked open and Akemi stepped quietly back into the house.

'Is everything all right?' asked Minerva urgently, pulling herself away from Jeff gently and walking back towards the table.

'Yes,' sighed Akemi, greeting Jeff with a weary smile as she pulled off her coat and her shoes. 'Yes, nothing to worry about, for the moment. So, you'll be off, then? Do you need a hand with anything?'

Minerva glanced at Jeff, who shrugged.

'Are you sure you don't want me to stay here for a bit longer, Akemi?' asked Minerva cautiously. 'I mean, just because things have been…'

'No, no, it's fine,' said Akemi calmly. 'I'll be perfectly fine. Really.'

'Is there anything we can do?' Jeff asked helplessly.

Akemi laughed quietly as she sat down at the table, then looked up at Minerva and Jeff.

'Besides getting married as soon as possible, and cheering us all up? Not much.'


	18. The Web of Shadows

_The dream always began the same way. She walked through a fog-shrouded ghost town, so blurred by the elements that she could barely tell what it had once been. Uneven cobblestones rolled and jostled beneath her feet, but she knew she had to keep her head up for danger, and so risked stumbling over their jutting knobs. Then the long concrete wall would appear out of the mist before her, and the instant she placed her hands on the wrought-iron gate barring her path, the howls always began. The first few times, she had tried sprinting from the gate until her lungs hurt, but inevitably one of the beasts always loomed before her, its jaws dripping with saliva and its eyes gleaming. Now, she tried climbing the gate instead, but it always stretched too high for her. This time, she clung to the bars of the gate, halfway up and an eternity away from escape, too exhausted to go on. She closed her eyes as the growling grew nearer, and when she could feel the blasts of hot breath on the back of her leg, she tensed for the sensation of teeth on her flesh._

Minerva jolted herself from her nightmares with a gasp and lay there in bed, sweat beading on her brow. She waited for her breathing to slow from its frantic tempo, although she knew her heart would continue to thud a rapid beat for a long time afterwards. She rolled over onto her side and looked out the window at the full moon. Funny, the dreams always seemed to coincide with the full moon… not so much funny as appropriate. Minerva wondered if her subconscious was paying closer attention to the heavens than she had since Astronomy class.

She always managed to wake herself up just before the fangs touched her. It was a convenient pattern, but she never knew if her mind would continue to be so kind. That was what made the nightmares so terrifying, even now that she knew what she should expect.

It was a bit of a pity, really, Minerva thought to herself, sliding out of bed since she was now absolutely alert. The baby had been sleeping quietly for a few hours now, and she could have used the extra sleep – Merlin knew both she and Jeff were getting little enough as it was. She stood at the edge of the cradle by the window, looking down at her tiny daughter, who yawned and squirmed her little fists in her sleep. Silly to think that dreams could pervade reality, but it always comforted Minerva to see that her baby was safe and existed in a completely different world from her mother's nightmares.

Jeff was half-awake when Minerva sat back down on the edge of the bed, still too rattled to go back to sleep.

'I didn't hear her make any noise,' he mumbled, reaching out a hand and touching Minerva lightly on the back. 'Everything all right?'

Minerva nodded stiffly, still facing away from him.

'Nightmares again?' asked Jeff, sitting up. He wrapped his arms around Minerva as she very quietly began to cry.

'I'm being irrational,' she sniffed apologetically.

'Well, if you are, you're severely sleep-deprived, so you've got a good excuse,' Jeff reminded her as he tried and failed to stifle an enormous yawn. 'You would let me know if there's anything I could do to help, wouldn't you?'

'Of course I would,' sighed Minerva, rubbing her eyes. 'Unfortunately, unless you can somehow Legilimens your way into my dreams and sort everything out, I don't think there's much you can do, other than just be here with me.'

'Well, I can do that,' murmured Jeff into her hair, then craning his neck round so he could plant a kiss just below one of Minerva's teary eyes. 'Whether or not it'll make you worry less, I can do that.'

'Worry less?' Minerva smiled ironically. 'I don't think I'll worry less until this war is over.'

'Well, that's for Moody and Akemi and the boys to sort out, isn't it,' said Jeff, letting himself fall backwards onto the bed and dragging Minerva with him. 'And you'll be back there soon enough, so don't fret and enjoy the mental relaxation in the meantime.'

Minerva made a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat. Jeff let her go and rolled onto his side, regarding her suspiciously.

'What?'

'I may or may not have scheduled a meeting with Moody by fireplace tomorrow afternoon,' Minerva admitted.

Jeff stared at her for a minute, then began to laugh.

'Shh, you'll wake the baby!' whispered Minerva, clumsily covering her husband's mouth as he rolled over onto his back guffawing.

'You are incorrigible, Minerva McGonagall,' gasped Jeff, grinning. 'You and Moody, both.'

'Minerva Cunningham,' Minerva corrected him. 'I mean, he's not planning to give me anything I can't do from home; no field research or anything, obviously, since I haven't passed my final exams yet. I expect it'll be mostly analysis of other people's research.'

'Just don't forget about the baby,' Jeff teased. 'I know how absorbed you become in your work.'

'Well, you never know, it might be good for me,' countered Minerva with a hesitant smile made wobbly by the tears still drying on her cheeks. 'Something to distract me from worrying all the time.'

'And how on earth do you expect researching the crazies out there to _prevent_ you from worrying about them?'

'By feeling like I'm doing something about it,' argued Minerva, sitting up. 'It'll be my way of getting beyond this metaphorical gate, maybe.'

'Metaphorical gate?' repeated Jeff, furrowing his brow in confusion.

Minerva faltered.

'Nothing,' she said instead. Jeff looked at her with concern.

'Minerva, are you sure you wouldn't feel better if you just _told_ me about these nightmares? My mom used to always say it was best to get whatever was bothering you out into the air, rather than to keep it inside your brain. I swear I won't laugh at you, even if it's something you think I'd find silly.'

Minerva sensed that he was doing his best to hold back the impulse to make some joke about Dolores Umbridge, or something of that nature, and she loved him for it.

'It's… I mean, you're right, it sounds somewhat silly when I say it aloud, but when I'm asleep…' Minerva shook her head. 'Well, I'm sure you know what I mean. I keep dreaming that… that these _wolves_ are chasing me and I'm blocked by a huge wall, and there's a gate but I can't get over it in time.'

'Wolves?' repeated Jeff, frowning.

'Yes… I told you it was silly, never mind,' muttered Minerva, suddenly embarrassed.

'That's not silly at all.' Jeff frowned as he lightly ran his fingers over the place on Minerva's arm where a thin white scar (visible in the light of the full moon) marked her brush with the werewolf in the Forbidden Forest years before. 'I'm sorry.'

'Well, hopefully it'll stop soon,' yawned Minerva, pulling the covers over her and resting her head on Jeff's chest. 'Don't you worry about it, though. There's no use in two people fretting over something that can't be controlled.'

* * *

The Cunninghams' residence in the east London suburb of Stratford was far from fashionable, and as different from McGonagall Manor as could be imagined, but it was what they could afford, and Minerva loved it. Their small brick house, situated on an enchanted cul-de-sac that kept the local Muggles from stumbling upon the community of good-hearted but still prejudiced working-class witches and wizards, was squeezed tightly between the two homes adjacent, and while the terraced proximity could be a bit uncomfortable when the neighbours were arguing loudly, the closeness gave her an unusual sense of security. Two stories tall, it consisted of a small living room in the front, just off the skinny hall that led into a kitchen that included a gas stove and a wooden table, while a narrow staircase with a low overhang above it sliced upwards to two bedrooms and a small toilet.

Minerva knew that her mother did not quite approve – 'You do know that your father and I would be more than happy to lend you enough to move to a… a more polished neighbourhood, don't you?' – but, in an odd way, after living in an ivory tower for so long, she was enjoying living amongst people who were less rigid in their ways. She suspected that many of the neighbours had been somewhat taken aback by her Scottish accent and upper-class mannerisms, not to mention by the traces of American still remaining in Jeff's speech (idioms, vowel modifications on certain words, and so on), but they had swallowed their perplexity quickly enough and now traded amiable nods of acknowledgement on the streets as easily with Minerva as with anyone else.

Minerva was seated on a sofa in the front room, sipping a cup of tea and reading the _Prophet_ over the coffee table, when Moody called the next morning.

'McGonagall!' he barked from the fireplace by way of greeting.

Minerva nearly upset her tea as she jumped in her seat, but she quickly set the cup down on top of her newspaper and made her way across the room to the mantel.

'Cunningham, now,' she corrected him, grinning. 'How have you been, Moody?'

'Surrounded by too few sensible people and too many blithering idiots,' snorted Moody disdainfully. He looked Minerva over proudly. 'Merlin's beard, McGonagall, you sure as hell don't look as if you became a mother only six weeks ago. My sister was about as alert as a Flobberworm for the first few months when her son was born.'

'I guess I never quite got out of the habit of a truncated sleep schedule,' Minerva pointed out wryly, 'having left Hogwarts only a year ago or so.'

'Well, I've got some higher power to thank for that. I'll be glad to have you on my team and functioning at a reasonably high level throughout all this; things have been ridiculous. Were it not for Yukawa and Bones at the office, I think I would have Transfigured the boys into wombats by now.' Moody rolled his eyes heavenwards in exasperation. 'Bloody hell, it's infuriating to see how such intelligent people can sometimes have so little common sense…'

'How's Akemi holding up?' asked Minerva as she went back to the table to retrieve her tea before sitting back down on the rug by the fire. 'I haven't heard from her recently.'

'That's because she's been going a bit mad,' sighed Moody. 'The American Muggle Government's just decided to relocate her family from California to the middle of some desert.'

'What?' Minerva frowned as she placed her tea cup on the ground beside her. 'What for?'

'For being the wrong race at the wrong time during the wrong war.' Moody harrumphed in general annoyance at the office of the American presidency (even though, Minerva was quite sure, he wouldn't have known the current occupant's name if asked). 'Apparently, they're relocating all the Japanese in the western states, even the ones born in America. Akemi wanted to go home and see what was happening for herself, but if she goes back to San Francisco, she'll risk being carted off to the horse stables that her family's being held in. Although, if they figure out she's a witch, it might be worse for her; a friend of mine in the States told me that they've confiscated the wands of all the witches and wizards of Japanese descent across the country, indiscriminately, and placed incredibly stringent anti-Apparition spells around the centre where they're keeping them, too.'

'Did something else happen after Pearl Harbour?' asked Minerva, confused.

'Nah, but apparently, both administrations – wizarding and Muggle, I mean – are trying to pre-empt any espionage or sabotage by Japanese-Americans. Stupid, of course. ADOTUS logically has been keeping tabs on any _actual_ traitors who might try to collaborate with the Japanese military, and I hear that the Muggle Federal Bureau of Investigation's certain they've already arrested anyone who might cause problems. That J. Edgar Hoover of theirs doesn't ever seem to even blink; I wonder if one of his ancestors was a Squib and some magic got passed down along the way.'

'Not everyone who's competent or even talented is necessarily magical, Moody,' Minerva reminded him. 'So, they've rounded up all these people and put them in horse stalls, or deserts, or what have you. What then?'

Moody clearly had just shrugged, but the gesture was useless with only his head visible. This realisation clearly annoyed him even further.

'I suppose the Government will just have to hold them all until the end of the war,' he said. 'But, if Akemi's right – and I get the sense she has a pretty firm grasp of American law, both wizarding and Muggle – it's not exactly _legal_ for the Government to do such a thing to American citizens, without taking the time to prove that each individual citizen being locked away is actually a threat to the state.'

'Well, that hasn't stopped them from doing it in Germany and Poland and Czechoslovakia, has it?' said Minerva bitterly.

'Yeah, but _those_ people are bigoted maniacs,' fumed Moody, 'so it's _understandable_ if they do bloody awful things. These are our _allies_ , so we have to back them anyway, even when they're acting barking mad.'

Minerva wasn't quite sure how to respond, so she was almost glad that, just then, the baby began to fuss in the other room.

'Could you give me a moment, Moody?' she asked, rising to her feet and walking back towards the kitchen.

'Should I call back later?' Moody shouted after her, concerned, but Minerva returned a few moments later, bouncing her disgruntled daughter in her arms.

'Oh, no,' laughed Minerva. 'She's not hungry, just bored. See the funny man in the fire, Dee?'

Minerva turned the baby around so that she caught sight of Moody's head in the fireplace and, forgetting whatever had been bothering her before, the infant stared in wide-eyed amazement.

Moody couldn't help but laugh. Even at six weeks old, the resemblance between Minerva and her daughter was striking. Except for her colouring – she had the same colouring as her father (whom Moody had only really seen at the wedding, but remembered approving of).

'What's that you're calling her?' he asked as Minerva kissed her astonished child on the top of her head.

'Perdita. My friend Pomona's suggestion, actually… I don't know where she came across it. But I thought it was lovely, and Jeff was amused because of some sort of relevant Shakespearean connotation.'

Moody shook his disembodied head in amusement, American political melodrama momentarily forgotten.

'Well, you seem to have taken to all this quite naturally,' he said, meaning motherhood and childrearing. 'Are you sure I shouldn't check back in on you later?'

'Of course,' said Minerva sensibly, laying her daughter gently on the rug beside her and moving her teacup out of the way of any little flailing limbs. 'How can I be of use to the Auror Department?'

Moody's face darkened again, and his grim look caused Perdita's brow to wrinkle in sympathetic worry as she watched him from where she lay.

'Well, let's cut to the chase, then,' he said seriously. 'I received an owl a few days ago from a friend of mine living just outside of Budapest. She said she wanted to send me a bottle full of thoughts…'

'A bottle full of thoughts?' Minerva repeated.

'To use in a Pensieve, McGonagall,' Moody explained impatiently.

'Cunningham,' she corrected him again.

'Yes, that,' barked Moody, then softened his tone when Perdita began to whimper nervously. Minerva picked her back up and rocked her back and forth. 'Sorry. In my mind, you're just very much your father's daughter.'

'It's fine,' sighed Minerva. 'So your friend has a bottle full of thoughts…?'

'Ah, right. It seems that, while on an evening walk along the Danube, Anikó had run into some poor exhausted wretch dressed in faded rags and clearly very sick and very disoriented. He only spoke Romani and a little Serbo-Croatian, so all that Anikó could discern through hand gestures was that the man did not want her to take him to a hospital. The man was clearly not a wizard, so Anikó was hesitant to use Legilimency to try to discern what she could do to help him, for fear of scaring him even further towards death, but eventually she did so, and…'

Moody exhaled slowly.

'Well, she couldn't figure out what the man's symptoms were, and the man was insistent on not going out in public or letting anyone else know he was there, so he just kept getting worse and worse off, right there in Anikó's house. Finally, Anikó could see that the man wasn't going to get well again, so she somehow got the man to understand that she wanted to take his memories, and the man agreed.

'Anikó said the man died that night. She never even knew what his name was.'

Moody paused for a long moment. Something about his silence unnerved Minerva more than Moody's vitriolic ranting ever had, but she got the feeling that this would be the least tactful moment possible to hurry his thoughts along.

'Anikó told me that the memories are very, very jumbled,' he finally continued, speaking very carefully and slowly, as if he himself was trying to avoid awakening any unwanted thoughts of his own. 'Most of them are just the briefest flashes, but from what she described to me, the discernible moments are so filled with violence and horror that none of them can be easily forgotten. I debated with myself for a long while if I should let you see them, but…'

'I'll be fine, Moody,' insisted Minerva, simultaneously terrified and intrigued. Alastor Moody had seen half of his friends killed in the attack at the Ministry two years previously, and yet mere descriptions of the memories of this unknown man had caused the same sort of closed-off shift in his manner. That fact in itself was enough to make her hair stand on end, but she steeled herself with the reminder that she had not signed up to be an Auror only to get cold feet when she was most needed.

Moody studied her face carefully, then glanced at the perplexed Perdita, who (now that the sombre tone in Moody's voice had temporarily ceased) was back to being entertained by the glowing head in the fireplace.

'Are you sure?' he said. 'I would hate to ruin your period of domestic bliss.'

'I would throw a sofa cushion at your head, were it not in the middle of a burning fire, Moody,' Minerva retorted. 'It's precisely _because_ of her that I want to help end this war in any way possible, even in the smallest way.'

'Fair enough,' sighed Moody. 'I'll have Yukawa drop the bottle off when it arrives; I doubt you'll want to bother with bringing a baby into the Ministry. Anikó says she doesn't want to risk sending it by owl – too easy to intercept – so she'll bring it herself when she can next come to London for business. And I'll get you a Pensieve from somewhere… I don't think you'd be allowed to bring one of the Ministry ones home, since some of them have top-secret thoughts in them, but maybe Dumbledore would let you borrow his for an afternoon, since Hogwarts is about begin its summer holiday?'

'Moody,' interrupted Minerva, 'that's all very well and fine, but what should I be looking for in these memories?'

Moody paused for a long moment.

'I'm not sure yet,' he said slowly. 'But it seems that something is going terribly, terribly wrong on the continent, and by Merlin, even if the Ministry has given specific orders that the Aurors are only to investigate direct threats to Britain, you're not _technically_ working for me right now, so I want you to find out what's going on. Oh, and comb the newspapers, if you can, too; propagandists very stupidly sometimes let slip useful information.'

'English, or German?'

'Both.' Moody reflected. 'Maybe Polish and Czech, too, come to think of it.'

'I live with a Czech speaker,' Minerva pointed out.

'Perfect. Serbo-Croatian, too, then,' Moody said automatically. 'It should be easy enough to get you a pair of specs for that. Anikó is on top of the Hungarian for me… I wonder if Romanian would be helpful…?'

'Moody?' Donaghy's voice sounded very distant from the other side of the fireplace. 'That Fudge is back with another message from the Minister.'

Moody sighed in exasperation.

'Bloody hell, not another one. Is that enough to go on, for now, McGonagall?'

'Absolutely,' Minerva reassured him, deciding to surrender in what was clearly a losing battle over her surname. 'I'll wait to get the spectacles, then, and the bottle.'

'Right.' Moody cleared his throat. 'Well, best get on with things. Glad to see you're doing well, both of you.' He smiled lopsidedly at Perdita before disappearing from the fire, which left the baby once again bewildered.

'I dare say you'll get used to it,' laughed Minerva in merriment over her daughter's astounded expression, kissing her on her button of a nose. Still mulling carefully over everything Moody had said, Minerva clambered to her feet and lay down on the sofa, holding her soon-sleeping daughter close to her as she finished reading the paper, her tea growing cold by the dying fire.

* * *

'What's this?' asked Jeff, rising from the kitchen table with his toast in his hand to better watch Minerva unwrap a brown parcel that had just arrived for her by post that morning. 'New spectacles?'

'Not just that,' said Minerva. 'These are "Translating Trifocals", according to the label.'

'Come again?' Jeff took the box from Minerva and chuckled briefly at the rather forced alliteration. 'What for?'

'Moody wants me to start reading German newspapers for any available open source information,' explained Minerva, carefully putting her spectacles aside and slipping the trifocals on. 'With these, I should be able to easily comprehend whatever I read in German through the centre of the lenses, Polish through the top, and Slovak through the bottom.'

'Blimey,' muttered Jeff, 'what I wouldn't have given for a pair of those when I was trying to learn French in grade school…'

'Well, I doubt it would have helped with your oral comprehension skills,' smirked Minerva, putting the trifocals away. 'You get to help me with the Czech, by the way.'

'Only when you run out of other reading material,' laughed Jeff. 'My guess is that you probably wouldn't want me getting too wrapped up in your work – you'd get all territorial about it, in the end.'

'Probably,' Minerva admitted. She had no sooner picked up a piece of toast than Mourek the cat leapt onto her lap, causing Minerva to sneeze violently. 'Off, you,' she scolded, shoving him back onto the floor.

'Sorry,' said Jeff sheepishly. 'I tried to keep him outside, but with it raining and all…'

'Oh, never mind, I'll just shunt him back outside again once you leave,' Minerva sniffed as the cat curled up on a nearby armchair and glared at her resentfully. 'By the way, Augusta's planning to visit today, in case you want to come home early and catch up a bit.'

Jeff looked at the ground a little sheepishly.

'Actually, I'm not quite sure what time I'll be back,' he said. 'I'm sorry, Minerva…'

'Is everything all right at St. Mungo's?' asked Minerva, frowning. 'There hasn't been another big attack or anything?'

'No, no, everything's fine at work,' said Jeff quickly. 'You remember my friend Poppy?'

'Poppy Pomfrey? Of course.'

'Well, she's just started an apprenticeship at St. Mungo's, and I asked if she'd like to grab a pint after work today.'

'That's considerate of you,' said Minerva neutrally. 'She's welcome to come for tea as well, I hope you know.'

'And I'm sure she'd appreciate it, but I…' Jeff broke off abruptly and cleared his throat. 'Well, I'm hoping to interest her in joining me in a research proposal of sorts, and I was hoping to discuss it with her in private.'

'Really. You know, I may not yet have formally passed my Auror exams, but I do still have a rather high security clearance …'

'Not government-related,' laughed Jeff, 'but secret nonetheless.'

'Nothing illegal, I hope?' Minerva raised her eyebrows.

'Good god, no,' snorted Jeff, 'what kind of an idiot would I have to be to conduct illegal business under the nose of one of the keenest Aurors in England?'

'Intelligent people do stupid things all the time, Jeffrey,' Minerva said tersely, taking a sip of her tea. 'And the ones who know they're the least subject to suspicion are the ones who are most likely to get away with illegal activities, after all.'

Jeff laughed and kissed Minerva on the cheek.

'You'd better keep a close eye on me, then,' he said mischievously. 'See you tonight, Dee,' he added, waving his fingers at Perdita, who was looking up at him with wide eyes from her baby chair.

Minerva continued staring into her cup of tea until she heard the front door close and the only sound left echoing through the house was the steady tick of the grandfather clock in the corner. Her hands shook ever so slightly as she placed her tea cup back in her saucer. Then, pulling her hair into a tight bun, she breathed a deep sigh and pushed her plate aside. Moody had sent her a miserable owl laden with the national wizarding newspapers of Germany, Austria, and Poland, earlier that morning; swapping her spectacles for the trifocals, she flipped open a copy of _Die Zauberhafte Zeitung_ and began to read.

* * *

'He said what?' Augusta frowned as she placed her tea cup back into her saucer.

'I don't know what to make of it,' said Minerva wearily. 'Do _you_ think I should be worried?'

'I… don't know,' said Augusta slowly. 'I mean, you did only just get married a few months ago, so I don't think he'd…'

'Yes, but what with me being absurdly pregnant half the time, and then the baby to care for all night long, it's not like we've been able to…' Minerva cut herself off, blushing. 'Well, you know.'

'Hmm, well.' Augusta narrowed her eyes. 'That would make a bit of a difference, I suppose, but – but, come _on_ , Minerva, that doesn't seem like Jeff at all!'

'I suppose…'

'And you remember what a good friend of his that Poppy Pomfrey was in school,' continued Augusta, biting into a buttered crumpet. 'And despite the fact they were such good friends, and half of the Ravenclaw boys were mad for Pomfrey, he never could take his eyes off of you, could he?'

'Good heavens, I don't know…' said Minerva, smiling faintly.

'Oh, please, Minerva,' scoffed Augusta. 'Just because you're the least observant person on this planet doesn't mean that the rest of us didn't notice how head-over-heels our dear Mr Cunningham was for a certain Gryffindor Chaser.'

'Excuse me, Augusta,' said Minerva defensively with a small grin, 'I think Moody wouldn't have assigned me all this reading to do if he didn't think I was at least a _tiny_ bit observant…'

'I mean in all matters except those concerning yourself,' clarified Augusta breezily. 'I wouldn't worry too much if I were you, Minerva; mightn't it just be that Jeff means what he says? Now, what's this project you're working on, if you can tell me about it?'

'Of course I can, they wouldn't give me anything terribly classified to work on at home, even if I were a certified Auror.'

'Well?'

Minerva started as Perdita began to fuss in the other room, and she leapt up. When she returned, carrying the disgruntled child, Augusta began to coo and held her hands out to take the bairn.

'Oh, just _look_ at her! Why, hel- _lo_ there! You've finally woken up, thank goodness! I was afraid I wasn't going to get to meet you this visit, pumpkin! Oh, isn't that precious, you're really Mummy's little girl, aren't you? Merlin, Minerva,' she added, 'she looks just like you probably did when you were that age…'

'She's only a few weeks old,' laughed Minerva, taking Perdita back. 'There's still plenty of time for her to grow into looking like Jeff.'

'Indeed.' Augusta sighed happily as Minerva sat back down. 'So, you were saying?'

Minerva frowned.

'Oh, I just am supposed to be reading through the main magical newspapers from a few different countries on the continent,' she explained, not wanting to go into details. 'Moody suspects they may be reporting things they aren't supposed to, without even realising it?'

'And so he wants you to learn German?' asked Augusta with amusement as she picked up the Viennese newspaper Minerva had been perusing when she had arrived. 'Goodness, not asking much, is he?'

'No, no, I have these,' said Minerva, tossing Augusta the spectacles. 'Here, look through the centre…'

Augusta spent the next ten minutes or so experimenting gleefully with the spectacles whilst Minerva ensured that the baby was fed and changed. She knew that Augusta was probably right, but some small edge of jealousy continued to nag at her.

'Oh, she's just darling,' crooned Augusta, letting Perdita grab at her fingers, the Translating Trifocals still perched on her nose, magnifying her eyes weirdly. 'I'd love to have one of my own soon, but Paul just doesn't think it's a wise idea until after the war is over.'

'He's probably right,' said Minerva rationally, although she for one was glad to have a baby to distract her from the disturbingly purist propaganda she had been reading before Augusta had arrived.

'Let's just hope it ends soon,' sighed Augusta. 'Just think, if we have a child within the next few years, he can grow up playing with Perdita. It'll be perfect.'

'What then?' laughed Minerva. 'We'll just need to find Pomona a nice fellow to marry and rope her into this whole business, maybe?'

'Oh, you know Pomona,' said Augusta evasively. 'No one in sight for the near future, but who knows, maybe someone with a strong enough affinity for plants…'

'If she comes back to Britain in the first place,' added Minerva. 'Where is she right now, Micronesia?'

'You didn't hear? She was travelling around the South Pacific, looking at plant specimens, but she nearly got caught in some sort of aerial attack being conducted by the Japanese Muggle Army, and she had to make her way back to Australia so she could Portkey back to England.'

'What?' said Minerva, aghast. 'Where has she been, then?'

'Lurking about some enchanted greenhouses in Kew, trying to salvage the clippings she was able to bring back.' Augusta shook her head, her smile accompanied by an upward glance of exasperation. 'No one can ever accuse that girl of not being dedicated.'

'Well, we'll all have to meet up some time soon. Lunch at my place, or at yours.'

'Indeed.' Augusta drained the rest of her tea and stood up. 'I should probably head out – still need to make it down to Diagon Alley before it gets too late. Do let me know if you need anything at all, though, will you? Even just someone to talk to?'

'Of course.'

'Good.' Augusta eyed Minerva. 'You know, I usually don't like to take sides in fights between good friends of mine, and I honestly don't think you have anything worry about, anyway; but in this case, Minerva, should the metaphorical cauldron really explode in your face, you'd better let Jeff know that I will happily duel him on your behalf. I may still be rubbish in Charms, but my Defence Against the Dark Arts marks were always decent.'

Minerva laughed, but some edge of unease continued to gnaw at her for the rest of the evening. By the time Jeff burst through the door of the house, smelling of spring air, Minerva had barely been able to get through two full newspapers, her mind having wandered distractedly throughout the entire afternoon.

'Making much progress?' Jeff asked her, throwing his arms around her from behind and kissing the top of her head.

'Not really, no,' sighed Minerva, tossing her latest paper onto the floor next to the sofa and rubbing the bridge of her nose under the Translating Trifocals.

'Oh. Maybe you'll feel better after you eat something?' Jeff wandered back down the hall towards the kitchen. 'Do we have anything to eat?'

'I'm sure we do,' said Minerva wearily. 'I don't even know what's in the pantry. You're a much better cook than I am, anyway.'

'Only because I've had more practice at it,' Jeff shouted back over the sound of pots clanging about in the cupboards. (This was perfectly true – Akemi having cheerfully taken up the role of chef in their Bloomsbury flat, Minerva had never really bothered learning to prepare elaborate meals in her absence from the Great Hall's gastronomical abundance.) 'How's Augusta?'

'The same as always.' Minerva hesitated. 'How's Poppy Pomfrey?'

'Ah, doing fine.' Jeff walked back up the hallway with a slab of bread in one hand and leaned up against the door frame of the front room. 'Bit terrified to be living out in the real world on her own, I think, but she'll get through it, in the end. Can't really blame her, with things like they are… I, for one, am glad to have someone to come home to.'

Minerva looked at him for a long moment, then uncrossed her arms where they had been folded across her chest and slowly pushed herself up to a seated position on the sofa.

'You really mean that?' she said softly.

Jeff had just torn off a chunk of bread with his teeth, but as he chewed it, he sat down next to Minerva on the sofa and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

'Why on earth wouldn't I,' he said, leaning his forehead against hers, 'when I have the most beautiful family imaginable to return to every evening?'

Minerva felt as if some wealth of sunshine had suddenly cascaded down upon her, but instead she found herself holding back tears instead.

'Come here, you,' she said, fairly leaping off the sofa and dragging Jeff with her by one hand. He laughed in surprise and twirled her before catching her around the waist. 'The baby's been asleep in her crib in the kitchen for about a quarter hour. You haven't actually started cooking anything yet?'

'No, but if you're hungry…'

'That can wait,' said Minerva, wrapping her arms around Jeff's neck. 'I just wanted to make sure that nothing was going to burn if we left it there.'

'Very conscientious of you, that,' he breathed in return before Minerva shut him up by pressing her mouth avidly to his.

'I miss you,' she whispered, by which she meant that as much as she loved their daughter, she already missed walking through the polished marble halls of the Ministry every day; and she missed seeing for herself what was going on in the world outside of their small, dingy neighbourhood; and she missed feeling for certain that she could do something about the war; and she missed the adventures they might have been having around London, were they still at liberty to act like foolish young lovers and not like adults with responsibilities who sometimes passed like ships in the night.

Jeff kissed her again more gently, although the grip of his arms around her waist remained constant.

'I miss you, too,' he said softly, and although she knew that he couldn't understand everything that she was feeling, she felt like he understood at least some of it. Perhaps not enough, but some, and that was all she could really ask.

They stood holding each other in the front room for a long moment, and then Minerva gently took Jeff by the hand and led him out into the hallway and up the stairwell to the bedroom, as quietly as they could go without waking the baby.

* * *

'Progress?' Moody asked, stifling a yawn by clenching his jaw.

'Some.' Minerva furrowed her brow at the fireplace. 'What's got you yawning so early in the week?'

Moody rolled his eyes.

'New parents don't have a monopoly on fatigue, McGonagall,' he admonished.

'Nothing serious, then?'

'Well,' sighed Moody, 'it started out with a false alarm. Reports within the Ministry indicated that another inside attack might be pending over the past few days – don't get all jumpy like that, McGonagall, we're pretty damn sure everything is under control – so we came out in full force yesterday afternoon, near closing, when we received reports of an explosion coming from within the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office. We had to put the entire Ministry on lockdown for a good few hours while we went in to investigate.'

'But no-one's hurt, are they, Moody?' prompted Minerva, frowning.

'Oh, god, no.' Moody rolled his eyes again. 'It just took us the better part of the evening to help those poor bastards uncharm and destroy a bunch of posters of what's-his-name, Churchwood…'

'Churchill,' corrected Minerva automatically.

'Yeah, him. They wouldn't stop singing "God Save the Queen" at top volume and then exploding into beautiful fireworks – hence the explosions. Good bit of charmwork, but for Merlin's sake, a media blitz focussing the Muggle world's attention on our existence is the last thing our Government needs at the moment! I tell you, McGonagall, I'm all for patriotism, especially at times like this, but some people are just blithering idiots.'

'Well, better patriotism than nationalism,' said Minerva, her face darkening from the smirk she had been suppressing a moment earlier.

'And best of all if I don't need to stay up all night long dealing with ridiculous and wholly unnecessary paperwork,' snarled Moody. 'I was wishing someone would Obliviate me too, by the time we got through with all of the lists of Muggles whose memories needed modification. But yes, sorry, nationalism. What do you have?'

'I suppose a lot of the larger details are already fairly well-known….'

'Not to me,' said Moody sharply. 'Start there.'

'Let's see.' Minerva rubbed her eyes with two fingers and took a deep breath. 'The new Minister of Magical Purity in Austria has just issued an edict demanding that all wizards of partial-Muggle heritage register with the Government and subject their wands to weekly history testing by _Priori Incantatum_. A group of Polish intellectuals, including the notable Arithmancy scholar Andrzej Czarownik, were stopped in Łódź when their Portkey to the United States was detected by government surveillance; rumours are circulating that they were subjected to the Cruciatus Curse and at least one, Mariola Berło, is said to have been tortured to death, as she has not been seen since that night. A group of Gypsy mages living near Bratislava, at least one of whom had been consulted by the previous Czechoslovak government on matters pertaining to the regulation of Romani magical interaction with the Muggle community, were assaulted and brutalised by a group of unidentified wizards who snapped their wands before burning their homes…'

Moody made a harsh noise in the back of his throat. Minerva looked up from the list of notes off of which she had been reading, pushing her glasses back up her nose so that she could better see Moody's disembodied head floating in the flames.

'These people are all insane,' Moody pronounced. 'What else?'

'These are just the big news articles,' Minerva said, setting the list aside. 'But there are hundreds of other random disappearances every day, almost exclusively witches and wizards of Muggle descent; prominent figures, mostly politicians and intellectuals, with controversial social ideas about equality between the magical and Muggle communities; and, here's another curious thing, overwhelmingly wizards and witches of Jewish descent.'

'What?'

'I would never have known it, but my husband noticed that a lot of these missing or persecuted witches and wizards had Jewish surnames, by Muggle standards, at least.'

'Well, Merlin knows if I have any idea what that means,' grumbled Moody. 'So you're saying that they're being targeted for their religion?'

'I'm not sure,' said Minerva slowly. 'Jeff says that, at least in the Muggle world, a disproportionate percentage of the continental intellectual community is of Jewish descent, even if not practicing themselves, and that a surprising proportion of them similarly hold controversial ideas that get them into trouble.'

'Hmm.' Moody's mouth twisted into a grim half-smile. 'Well, I'm glad that Mr McGonagall is willing to help point out the things that aren't at all obvious to we mages in our underground metropolis.'

'Mr Cunningham,' Minerva corrected automatically, even though she knew that Moody was just goading her by now. 'I'll keep looking for some correlation, if I can think of one.'

'Anything else?'

'Some controversy over a magical shipment stopped near Gdansk; the article didn't say what, but it was quickly confiscated by the German Government. Protestors in Kraków arrested for picketing against the magical government's indifference towards Muggles being housed in "ghettos" in Warsaw and elsewhere throughout Europe. Fourteen schoolchildren in Ostrava, all the children of members of the now-disbanded Czechoslovak Opposition in the former Government, were taken out of their classrooms in school by police and found the next day harshly tortured and suffering from severe psychological distress. The body of an outspoken Muggle-born playwright found floating in the Vltava half a mile south of Prague…'

'Stop,' said Moody sharply. His beady eyes searched Minerva's face seriously. 'Merlin, McGonagall, how are you holding up under all of this constant gloom?'

'I do what I can, just as everyone else is doing,' said Minerva calmly. She didn't feel like telling Moody that her typical nightmares had taken on all sorts of new and disturbing valences since she had begun this project, nor that she had been incredibly close to asking Jeff if he would brew her a sleeping potion twice within the past week.

'If you say so,' said Moody, unconvinced. 'My friend Anikó is Portkey-ing into London in a few hours, to give a talk at the Ministry about magical rule of law in Hungary, and I was going to ask if you wanted the memories she's promised to bring, but I'm not sure I can give them to you now in good conscience.'

'Send them over,' said Minerva, hoping that some air of stoicism was concealing her fatigue. 'I'm sure they can't do anything more to me that reading all of these articles haven't already done, no?'

Moody eyed Minerva for a long moment, then glanced at the sofa, where Perdita was docilely napping with one small fist clutched around a corner of her baby blanket. He remained silent for a few moments, although Minerva heard him swear under his breath through the crackling of the kindling.

'Fine,' he said at last. 'I'll send them over with Yukawa tonight, then.'

'I can always come pick them up,' Minerva offered. 'It's been a while since I've been by the Ministry.'

'No, no, I'll send Yukawa by,' insisted Moody, and when Minerva opened her mouth to argue, he stopped her. 'Look, McGonagall, I don't often have moments of intuition, but I have the awful feeling that, while having Anikó speak at the Ministry is a good idea on the whole, it's not going to occur peacefully. If things begin to get nasty, we might have to be called in to keep rhetoric from devolving into petty duels, and I don't want any children around even if the spells being tossed back and forth are just stupid ones.'

'Things are that heated, are they?' Minerva said, trying to swallow the disappointment that had suddenly constricted her throat.

' _Never_ go into politics, McGonagall,' groaned Moody. 'Look, I have to go make sure that a few basic security precautions are in order, but I'll be in touch soon, and I'll send the memories over tonight, so be sure you're there.'

And before Minerva could say anything more, Moody's head disappeared from her hearth in a poof of green smoke.

Minerva sighed impatiently. She knew she had responsibilities now, but was it really too much to ask to go back into the Ministry once in a while? And now even Moody was ordering her to stay in her house. Well, she already had to write Dumbledore and ask for the use of his Pensieve; Minerva found some stationery in a desk drawer, settled herself down next to Perdita on the sofa, and began to write.

_Dear Professor Dumbledore;_

_Moody may have already contacted you about the possibility that I will need to use your Pensieve at some point in the near future, for sensitive Ministry-related work. If best for you, I would be happy to travel to Hogwarts sometime within the next few weeks; I do not anticipate needing the Pensieve for more than a few hours. In addition, if you might be available_

(Minerva hesitated. What did she want Dumbledore to tell her, anyway? It wasn't as if he had ever been torn between family and career, to her knowledge. She stared at the page for half a minute before continuing.)

_to offer a former student some much-needed advice over lunch or dinner at the Three Broomsticks, please let me know so that I can plan my travelling schedule accordingly._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

She had signed her maiden name without even realising it, and felt guilty for a moment afterwards, internally cursing Moody for his obstinacy. Nonetheless, she sealed the letter without correcting the error and sent it off with Aluco before resigning herself to another afternoon of intermittent research and tending to her child.

* * *

Bagolyi Anna was a well-dressed, short, stocky woman with thick greying hair and a smile that easily flew to her naturally sad countenance. Akemi had noticed this when she had entered the room moments ago with Moody, laughing at something that he had just said to her, but as she watched the Hungarian witch from the side of the Grand Courtroom of the Wizengamot, Akemi saw that Bagolyi's sombre expression bordered on grim, her hands pressed against the smooth wood top of the podium before her as if in anticipation of battle with the assembly of sceptical witches and wizards filing into the seats rising before her. Akemi's hand unconsciously strayed to the handle of her wand.

'Don't make any moves unless provoked,' Moody muttered into her ear.

'I won't,' she replied in an undertone, 'but something doesn't feel right. The very air in here feels tense.'

'It's fear,' breathed Moody as he scanned the room, his countenance as sombre as that of Bagolyi. 'That's what's gotten them all twitchy. They don't want to hear that yet another country is falling helpless before Grindelwald's reign of terror. They don't want to feel guilty about the fact that they have no intention in directly intervening.'

Akemi let out a huff of exasperation, but loosened her grip on her wand and crossed her arms instead, scowling.

'Keep your eyes on that crowd, over there,' Moody ordered Akemi in an undertone, gesturing slightly with his head towards a group of seven or eight wizards in the back of the hall, who continued to mutter to each other whilst casting unfriendly glances towards Bagolyi. 'I'll watch those three on this side, and for anyone entering or exiting the hall.'

'Is the Minister for Magic planning to attend?' Akemi asked.

'Of course not,' sneered Moody. 'He's in Cardiff until next weekend, no doubt smarming up to constituents, rather than learning about international affairs, and he's taken the boys with him for his own personal safety. What a shining example of civic governance, our dear Minister is.'

'Then why the heavy security? Not that I object to being here…'

Moody's eyes had remained fixed on the three wizards in the corner nearest him, but he glanced sadly over at the American witch beside him.

'Because there are people out there who want to cut off all communication between those who need help and those who can give it,' he said darkly. 'I won't even begin to tell you about the death threats Anikó's received in her own country. If anyone's followed her here to do her any harm… well, I'm not risking anything, let's keep it at that. Also,' he added as an afterthought with a rather smug smirk, 'she's known for speaking truth to power, which is invariably a controversial stance.'

It occurred to Akemi that she might be a touch jealous about the fiercely protective manner Moody had adopted to ensure Bagolyi's safety, but she decided to deal with that thought after the task at hand was done.

'Thank you,' called Bagolyi over the low rumble of the assembled witches and wizards. 'If everyone has arrived, I would like to begin my talk.'

'Eyes on the prize, Yukawa,' Moody hissed in her ear, and Akemi quickly readjusted her attention towards the group of wizards in the back of the room, who were still whispering to each other intermittently.

'As you have all noticed from what publicity exists for this talk, I am here to talk about the rule of law in Hungary and throughout the rest of continental Europe,' Bagolyi began. Her voice, in its elegantly accented English, was clear and steady, but Akemi noted out of the corner of her eye that the witch's left hand hovered about the handle of her own wand behind the podium, even as she swept a stray strand of hair out of her eyes and calmly turned a page of her notes with her right. 'Unsurprisingly, with the chaos and bloodshed sweeping across both wizarding and Muggle Europe, the democracy and self-determination to which we committed ourselves only two decades ago hang by a tenuous thread, as it is. However, I would like to argue that the current ills pervading Europe – the web of shadows, so to speak, that Gellert Grindelwald and his supporters are casting over each nation they conquer – are not so much the fault of those I have just named, as they were the fault of the inadequate pre-existing systems of justice in virtually every nation conquered.'

A murmur of dissent crescendoed immediately from the crowd. Moody grinned and shot a quick glance at Akemi, quirking an eyebrow in bemusement at the bewildered young witch. _Controversial, indeed_ , thought the American to herself, although she was more surprised than scandalised.

'I know my position is not a popular one,' Bagolyi, smiling wryly, continued over the restrained din, 'but let us examine the statistics. Virtually every continental European country, excepting Switzerland, retains a vestigial set of laws designed to disenfranchise Muggle-born members of the magical community, as well as their descendants. In France, the _Code de Sang_ has barred all witches and wizards from families tainted with "impure blood" from holding government positions at or above the equivalent of a Cabinet Minister. In Holland, property zoning laws have restricted the ability of Muggle-born mages and their families to live in certain desirable neighbourhoods. You here in Britain must be commended for having dispensed of nearly all of such discriminatory practices; but, before you all pat yourselves on the back too vigorously, I will remind you that such reform has only been carried through within the past hundred years, after centuries of similarly deplorable abuses. If I am correct in assuming that this cultural and legal bias against Muggle-borns, dating back a thousand years on the continent, is what has enabled Grindelwald to amass so many supporters across the lands he has overrun, then you yourselves are barely a safe distance beyond the sort of culture that would send thousands of discontented purebloods into Grindelwald's arms.'

Several wizards in the second row bristled. Whispers like the hiss of a lit fire still crackled through the hall. Bagolyi turned a page of her notes and looked back up at her increasingly angry audience.

'But perhaps _because_ Britain has exonerated itself of the worst of its _de jure_ policies towards Muggle-borns, it bears the heaviest burden of expectations within the international community. In Hungary, where our Minister for Magic has struck an odious alliance with Grindelwald to preserve at least facially what is left of his own power, legal rights for Muggle-borns are all but imaginary; any laws that protected them as citizens have been shunted aside in favour of draconian statutes that seek to strip them of all humanity, alienating them from their neighbours. Muggle-borns are frequently harassed and even assaulted on the streets of Budapest, and our Aurors are ordered to look the other way. Muggle-born academics have been fired en masse, as they have been in every country that Grindelwald has threatened or beaten into submission, and when professors in Debrecen staged a protest in retaliation, Dark wizards seriously wounded or killed nearly half, and received no punishment from the authorities because the Government has packed our Wizengamot with its own pawns. And Muggle-borns, especially those who are liable to be persecuted in Muggle communities because of their minority status there, have been disappearing mysteriously at alarming rates, with no response from the local or national governments. These are not trends particular to Hungary; they are visible in virtually every country now under the control of Grindelwald's supporters.

'Now, I realise that some in this hall may not understand why these trends demand that action be taken by the British Ministry, so let me be clear: Britain may still experience the occasional case in which Muggle-borns are harassed or persecuted, but compared to those in other countries, your culture is far more used to accepting Muggle-borns, and it has been since even before Grindelwald seized control of Germany. In times such as these, when the moral fabric of Europe is being shredded apart, this means that Britain has an even higher moral obligation to spread what enlightenment it has with regards to Muggle-borns throughout the rest of Europe. Your country too has been under physical attack from Muggle German forces, but the Ministry has taken no action, presumably because you have all felt safe here under the ground as British Muggles were killed every night by German air raids…'

The jeers of dissent were not even politely masked this time, but Bagolyi only seemed encouraged by them.

'I like your indignation,' she argued back, her hidden hand now gripping the handle of her wand. 'I am glad to see that you can recognise the wrongness in your behaviour. Believe it or not, I have seen people in Hungary not even understand why it is a sign of cowardice to hide underground, while thousands of less-fortunate Muggles suffered. You may have done nothing to stop the slaughter, but at least you recognise your own guilt in having stood by, doing nothing. Yes, imperfect as British tolerance is, it can still teach its continental counterparts plenty about how to treat Muggle-borns with respect. But the only way that other countries will even begin to listen to you is if you actively intervene and stop the atrocities being committed abroad, by driving out the perpetrators who follow Gellert Grindelwald in the name of righteousness and blood justice. My friends, the only way that righteousness and justice will ever be restored to an increasingly bigoted continent is if Britain is brave enough to fight for the freedom and rights of every witch and wizard, every adult and child, every Muggle-born and pureblood, across the Channel and across Europe. Basic morality and basic human decency demand intervention, and only you, the ministers and parliamentarians assembled, have the power to act on that imperative. I only hope that you have the courage to act with honour now, and avoid being burdened with the guilt of your inaction for years to come.'

From that point, although only half-finished, the lecture was more or less doomed. Most of the audience stormed out, red-faced and blustering, but some pressed in closer to shake the lecturer's hand and thank her for saying what they had been thinking for so long. Moody edged past Akemi to pace warily behind the podium, shooting suspicious glances at those who had stayed to speak to Bagolyi further. Akemi looked back to where her charges had been sitting, but they had departed with the rest of the crowd, as had Moody's group. She allowed her grip on the handle of her wand to relax for the first time since she had arrived in the hall.

'Well, I'm glad to see you've made yourself at least a few friends,' growled Moody as the last few well-wishers sidled out of the hall.

'And far more enemies, I am sure,' laughed Bagolyi wearily. 'But I hope to make at least one more friend before I leave for Scotland?'

She turned and smiled at Akemi.

'Akemi Yukawa,' the American said, stepping forward and offering her hand. 'It's a pleasure to meet you, Professor Bagolyi.'

'Oh, please, call me Anikó,' laughed the Hungarian witch. 'Alastor has told me all sorts of wonderful things about you. He thinks that your extended residency with the British Auror Department is the one good thing to have stemmed from the American Government's deplorable actions.'

'The _only_ good thing,' grumbled Moody with a lopsided smile in Akemi's direction.

'I was actually going to ask you about that,' Akemi said, following Bagolyi as she collected her notes and headed for the exit, Moody trailing them. 'You spoke about the deficit of justice in Europe, but not in the United States. Muggle-borns may be more widely accepted on our side of the Atlantic, and blood status may not be seen as nearly as important in a society that was built on the principles of meritocracy, but even if there's a higher percentage of Muggle-borns in political offices and the media and such, there still is rampant discrimination…'

'Based on race, I know.' Bagolyi sighed. 'Yes, believe me, the last time I visited a friend at a university in Atlanta, I spent the entire time looking over my shoulder, worrying that people were going to attack us for even consorting with each other, since he is black and I obviously am not.'

'But the discrimination that occurs in the United States on the basis of race isn't enough to put it on your list of nations who eschew the rule of law?' Akemi pressed. 'What's happening to my family is bad enough, but in some states, Professor, Muggles are killed by mobs just because of the colour of their skin, and this has been going on for at least a hundred years, since slavery ended.'

'That is very true,' conceded Bagolyi, frowning as the elevator that would take them to the Atrium clattered to a halt. 'But the difference here is that the pre-existing prejudices of wizarding communities across Europe are allowing Grindelwald to take control of powerful political factions far more easily than should be occurring, with no disrespect to the heroic efforts of the oppositions being harboured in London. In the United States, bad as things have been at the local level, the government itself has not begun persecuting specific minorities, or aggressively ignoring the persecutions being carried out.'

'With all due respect,' Akemi argued angrily, 'my family has been specifically targeted on the basis of being part of a minority group, by the national government itself. How is that morally different from what Grindelwald and Hitler have been doing?'

The elevator clanged and the doors slid open, but Bagolyi did not move.

'Tell me,' she said to Akemi without looking at her, 'have you heard from your family recently?'

'A postcard or two.'

'And they seem understandably upset but otherwise healthy?'

'As healthy and sane as one can be behind barbed wire with armed guards patrolling the border.'

'They are being fed enough? They have adequate shelter?'

'Horse stalls and government rations, but yes.'

'Then they have every right to be angry at your government's unconscionable breach of its Constitution, and fearful about having lost their homes and livelihoods. And of course it is not _right_ , how could it be right.' Bagolyi stepped out of the elevator, then turned and looked at Akemi. 'But if the stories I hear are true about the continent, about the thousands starving in ghettos, and perhaps worse, then no, it is not at all the same.'

Bagolyi shot a significant glance at Moody, who put his hand on Akemi's shoulder and gently pushed her out of the elevator.

'That reminds me, Yukawa,' said Moody in a low voice, his hand still on Akemi's shoulder as they moved across the Atrium, 'I was wondering if you could give something to McGonagall, from Anikó.'

'Not Aeneas McGonagall?' asked Bagolyi, her eyebrows raised.

'His daughter,' replied Moody. 'I thought I'd mentioned.'

'Only that you were giving it to an unofficial researcher, but not to whom,' Bagolyi said, smiling again.

'Of course I can,' Akemi replied belatedly.

'Tonight?'

'Sure.'

They had stopped by the bank of Floo portals at the end of the Atrium. Bagolyi sighed.

'Miss Yukawa, I am sorry if I seemed harsh a moment ago. I am just as frightened about the state of the world as you are, and I am sorry that things in the United States are as bad as they are, but if that is the case, then the status quo can only be changed by young, smart, motivated people like you. When this is all over, you might just have to go back home and start a revolution,' she added with a wink.

'Don't you put any ideas into her head,' growled Moody.

'I only say it because I believe you can truly make a difference,' said Bagolyi to Akemi. 'Go into politics or some other sort of activism. Or write a book that will change the world. Anything is possible.'

'Enough of that,' groaned Moody. 'You and Dumbledore can spend the rest of the week trading inspirational sentiments, but I have an office to run.'

'Dumbledore?' said Akemi, suddenly alert.

'Yes, I told him I would try to make it up from the village by tonight,' said Bagolyi, rummaging about in her bag for the bottle of thoughts.

'Stop whinging, Yukawa, I have absolutely no doubt you'll meet him one of these days,' Moody said in exasperation when he saw the American witch getting ready to complain.

Akemi could not remember later on if she felt the curse before she heard it, or vice versa, but she cast a shield only just before it would have hit both her and Moody square in the backs.

'Anikó!' Moody roared in warning as he whipped around, pulling his wand out of his robes as he did so and standing beside Akemi.

It was Akemi's group of wizards; she recognised the one who had been sitting nearest to her in the Wizengamot courtroom. He was now leering at her, three of his friends behind him as four others closed in around Moody. Akemi's heart was pounding, but she stayed as still as possible, waiting for her opponent to make another move.

With a slice of his wand, the wizard on her right threw a spell at her; she deflected it and he dodged being Stunned by her. Then the wizard in the lead slammed her with a spell that she barely blocked, stumbling backwards from the weight of the impact.

'Stay still!' shouted Bagolyi behind her, and Akemi found her footing to block another spell as the Hungarian witch threw a Stunning spell out from behind Akemi. It hit the wizard on the left full in the face; he crumpled to the floor with a cry.

Moody snarled in frustration as one of his assailants wove in and out of the curses that Moody continuously threw at him. Akemi spied one of the wizards on Moody's side aiming for a curse and deflected it just in time, Stunning the wizard and then disarming the one that was striking on her own right.

'Stupefy!' Akemi panted, Stunning the unarmed wizard. A curse sailed past her nose, close enough that she could feel the heat from the beam of light; she ducked and shot a curse behind her, pressing tight to Moody's side.

'Watch your left,' she warned him.

'When I say down, get down and don't look up,' he muttered to her. 'Got that? One, two… DOWN!'

Akemi hurled herself to the ground, seizing Bagolyi and dragging her downwards as she did so. A tremendous _BANG!_ echoed overhead, reverberating through the cavernous ceiling of the Atrium. Akemi shielded her eyes as a piercing white light filled the room, and she heard a series of thuds as Moody Stunned the remaining wizards on their feet.

'What was that?' she asked, rising slowly to her feet.

'A diversionary tactic,' said Moody simply. 'Blind your enemies, and it's damn hard for them to hit back at you.'

'You OK?' Akemi asked Bagolyi, who was brushing herself off in a surprisingly calm manner for having just been unexpectedly tackled.

'Yes,' panted the Hungarian witch. 'Thank you both for your quick reactions.'

'Our pleasure,' said Akemi.

'Our professional training,' said Moody at the exact same time.

Bagolyi laughed.

'Well, I hope that I always have Britain's best on hand when people try to carry out their death threats,' she said. 'Still, we had better go before any other trouble occurs.'

Moody, who had been surveying the Stunned wizards, swore loudly in agreement.

'What?' said Akemi sharply.

'We're missing one,' he muttered. 'Anikó, if you still haven't found that bottle, you'd better come along with us to McGonagall's. I swear we won't keep you from Dumbledore for too long.'

'It would be a pleasure,' smiled Bagolyi, stepping towards a Floo grate. 'Can we?'

Moody frowned and prodded with his wand at a sequence of decorative enamel squares on the top of the hearth. A fire quickly roared into life, and Moody pulled a packet of Floo powder from his robes and tossed it in.

'You know where we're going?' he said to Akemi, gesturing her into the grate first.

'Of course,' said Akemi, still slightly unnerved by the sensation of the emerald flames lapping at her robes. 'Are we all ready?'

'Anikó?' Moody barked, turning as he stepped inside the grate.

'Ah! There it is,' muttered Bagolyi to herself as she pulled a small sea-green glass bottle from within her bag (which had clearly been enchanted to hold all of her belongings for the entire trip, as well). 'Yes, ready if you are.'

But as Bagolyi stepped into the grate, a shot of red light glanced off the edge of the portal. The only unscathed wizard was sprinting back towards them, his eyes murderous. Akemi screamed Minerva's address into the flames, feeling Moody's hand clamp onto her shoulder as the three spun out of sight into the netherworld of the Floo network.

Akemi hated Floo landings, and this one was as bad as usual. The three travellers lurched out of the grate in Minerva's sitting room, scattering ash across the rug, and Akemi fell to her knees as Moody stumbled into her back.

'Damn it,' she snarled through gritted teeth. 'Is the Floo system traceable?'

'Never mind that,' snapped Moody, staggering to his feet with his wand in his hand. 'That man just heard Minerva's address yelled into the Floo network; he could be following at any minute.'

Akemi leapt to her feet, standing beside Moody. The two regarded the fireplace for a long moment, expecting the last wizard to bound from the hearth in a flash of green flame.

'What in heaven's name…?' Minerva began as she entered the room, but the grin on her face at the presence of her friends faded quickly. 'Merlin!'

Moody and Akemi followed her gaze at the same moment, neither lowering their wands. Bagolyi was curled on the hearth, trembling. Her entire body was badly burnt, oozing blood onto the floor.

'Jeff!' Minerva shouted, dashing back out into the hallway as Moody dropped to his knees next to his friend.

'Oh, god, Anikó!' Moody's voice cracked slightly.

'Alastor,' replied Bagolyi faintly, a trickle of blood dribbling from the corner of her mouth. 'A spell hit me. Must have… weakened the anti-burning defences in the Floo fire…'

'Damn it,' growled Moody. He took one of Bagolyi's scorched hands in his own, grimacing when she winced in pain. 'You'll be fine, Anna.'

Bagolyi began to laugh, but her rasps quickly dissolves into feeble coughs.

'What's going on?'

Jeff darted into the living room with Minerva following anxiously. He knelt beside Moody and looked gravely at Bagolyi, who looked back with eyes fading in and out of focus.

'We need to get her to St. Mungo's,' he said immediately.

'We can't go there,' snapped Moody, shaking as he rose to his feet. 'If the bastard who did this hasn't followed us here, then he's almost certainly waiting for us there.'

Moody glanced at Akemi, who was still standing with her wand at the ready before the fireplace. She nodded at him slightly, then returned her full attention to the grate.

'What can you do for her here?'

'Not much.' Jeff slammed a fist on the ground in frustration. 'We'd need some of the most advanced Healers at St. Mungo's to determine what type of magic allowed her to burn so badly so quickly, and we'd need to have a number of anti-burn potions on hand to keep her from losing too much blood before they could undo most of the magic that's affecting her.'

Bagolyi's breath was coming in short, ragged gasps by this point, but she managed to focus her eyes long enough to take stock of those assembled.

'Alastor,' she said, her voice wavering with the effort of speech. 'I dropped the bottle. When I started to burn. It must have smashed, somewhere in the Floo network.'

A few silvery threads of memory were seeping slowly down the Hungarian witch's charred cheek; it clearly was costing Bagolyi every last bit of resolve to ensure that they were expelled from her mind. Her eyes fixed on Minerva.

'Aeneas McGonagall's daughter,' she muttered to herself, what might have become a smile twitching at the corner of her mouth. 'Take these.'

Minerva knelt down next to Jeff, who quickly conjured her a tiny glass bottle. She carefully captured the few threads with the end of her wand and placed them carefully in the bottle before looking at the dying witch.

'Thank you,' Minerva said quietly. 'Is there anything…?' Her voice caught.

Bagolyi opened her mouth and said something so quietly that Minerva had to lean forward to hear her.

'The web must not catch fire,' Bagolyi whispered again. 'Tell Albus.'

By the time Minerva sat back, trying and failing to make sense of this cryptic message, Bagolyi was dead. Akemi sniffed back her tears, without leaving her post, as Jeff gently closed the witch's eyes and rose to fetch a sheet to cover the body. Minerva, stunned, reached out a hand to comfort Moody, but Moody abruptly stood and stormed out the front door, nearly succeeding in holding back his sobs until he was outside.

Bagolyi's few memories still lay enclosed in Minerva's hand. She quickly stowed the bottle in a hidden pocket of her robes. And, as she shakily rose to her feet to help Jeff, Minerva silently vowed to the dead witch that she would glean something useful from Bagolyi's last legacy, whatever horrors the memories might reveal.


	19. Pensieve and Promises

Minerva had never travelled to Hogwarts without the benefit of the Hogwarts Express, and while she enjoyed watching the English countryside flash by from her seat in the gently swaying Muggle train, the ride was oddly quiet, other than Perdita's occasional fussing. She kept expecting the witch with the tray of Pumpkin Pasties to appear in her car, but had no such luck as the hours dragged by. Moody had told her that she'd have to lean through one of the barriers in Glasgow, the same as at King's Cross, and she was relieved to find herself on the magical side of the train station once she got there, surrounded by a few scattered witches and wizards reading _The Daily Prophet_ on the benches.

'Destination?' asked the conductor as Minerva sat down on a bench with Perdita gurgling happily on her lap.

'Hogsmeade,' Minerva answered, handing him her ticket.

The conductor checked the ticket, coughed, tapped it with his wand, and held it back out to Minerva.

'Should be here in five minutes or so,' he informed her with a strong Glaswegian accent. He waggled a few fingers at Perdita, grinning. 'Safe travels to you and your bairn, ma'am.'

Minerva was not sure if she should be offended or complimented at being called 'ma'am' at the tender age of eighteen, but she refrained from complaining, and boarded the train when it came puffing up to the station a few moments later.

The baby was asleep by the time the train rumbled into the Hogsmeade station, and even Minerva had to shake herself free of a bit of drowsiness as she descended the steps of the train. She hadn't realised how much she had missed Hogsmeade until she found herself at its gates; an unexpected lump constricted her throat and she had to sternly suppress the tears that threatened to overwhelm her as she passed back into her old world.

Nevertheless, sitting in the Three Broomsticks felt different than it had when she was a student and had wanted to gossip about something or other with Augusta or Pomona. Minerva reflected ruefully that, as the pub itself looked precisely as it always had, it could only be she herself who had changed so dramatically. Sighing, she put away Perdita's baby bottle and, flipping open a copy of the _Wiener Weissager_ that she had brought with her, swapped her spectacles for her Translating Trifocals so that she could skim the headlines.

'I had no idea you spoke German, Minerva,' said a familiar voice as Minerva finished jotting down a few notes on the latest round of riots in Graz.

'Hello, Professor,' she said, stashing her quill in her robes as Dumbledore took a seat across from her. 'I don't speak a word of it, actually, but Moody's found a way to get me reading it anyway.'

She handed Dumbledore her Trifocals as she fished out her own spectacles again.

'How ingenious,' he remarked, testing them over his own half-moon frames. 'What my sixteen-year-old self would have done for a pair of these.'

'Why, were you forced to learn German?' asked Minerva, fairly positive that learning German was something that the Transfiguration professor would have done for fun at that age.

'Not forced. I made a silly bet with a friend of mine, that I could learn the language well enough within six months to translate accurately any page of Goethe that he chose. I won the wager, of course, but I never did go visit him in Germany, as planned, and I'll confess that my German is fairly rusty by now. It was a long time ago, _als ich sehr jung und dumm war_.'

Some indecipherable emotion flickered across Dumbledore's face, but it disappeared before Minerva could fathom what it meant.

'But enough of that,' he said, his amiable self once more. 'You haven't given me a proper introduction to our guest of honour, here.'

'In most spheres, you need no introduction, Professor,' Minerva remarked, lifting Perdita out of her pram. 'Have I mentioned that my friend Akemi has been frantic to meet you for months now?'

'Ah, the Auror Office's resident American? Well, that's unexpected and very kind of her.'

'She wrote a paper on the twelve uses of dragon blood when she was at Proctor,' Minerva explained. 'That's what made Professor Dumbledore here famous, Perdita, and that's why your friend Akemi wants to pick his brain on the subject sometime.'

The baby simply stared in wide-eyed curiosity at the professor seated opposite, then grinned toothlessly and waved her arms a bit. Dumbledore smiled and waved his wand so that a few shimmering butterflies fluttered across the table and above Perdita's head as she stared at them in fascination.

'I'd let you hold her, but she'd probably just tug at your beard,' Minerva said apologetically, laying the baby back in her pram, where she remained quietly entertained by the incorporeal butterflies.

'No offense taken,' laughed Dumbledore. 'So, what have you been doing recently, Minerva, other than caring for this little one?'

A curvy young witch in high heels came by to take their orders. Minerva waited until they were alone to answer Dumbledore.

'Research for Moody, as I'm sure he's told you. Hence the spectacles, and the German-language newspapers, and the need for your Pensieve.' Minerva hesitated. 'Your friend, Professor Bagolyi…'

'Yes.' Dumbledore's face almost seemed to close off as he remembered the friend to whom he had never gotten the chance to say goodbye.

'Well, before she…' Minerva swallowed; it still gave her chills to remember the burnt witch bleeding to death on her hearth. 'She gave me a few memories to look over. There were supposed to be more, but the bottle was lost in the Floo network somewhere.'

'She was a great scholar,' said Dumbledore with effort. 'Brilliant at Defence Against the Dark Arts work – she and Professor Merrythought co-authored a book once on the subject – but her real passion was magical law. I can't think of anyone else in the world who could fill her shoes so ably, and with such a zest for communicating ideas. We always meant to see more of each other than we ever did in practice, and now…'

He smiled sadly down at the top of the table. Minerva suddenly felt very acutely aware that the last scrap of a woman's mind was contained in a bottle in her pocket.

'But enough of that,' said Dumbledore. 'You mentioned in your letter that you were in search of advice, and if I can competently address the subject, I would be happy to do so.'

'Oh, that.' Minerva paused again while the curvy witch returned and set down their food. 'Well, I'm not sure how to say this, really.'

Dumbledore folded his hands and waited patiently while Minerva struggled to find the words for what she wanted to say.

'Everything is so uncertain nowadays,' she said finally, not starting at all where she had intended to start. 'Had you asked me before the war began, or even two years ago, where I expected my life to be right now, I wouldn't have dreamt it would be like this. I never thought I'd get married this young, and I certainly never thought I'd have a child until I was much older. This is how things worked out, and I don't regret it at all, I really don't.'

Dumbledore's silence more than implied the inevitable questioning _but_. Minerva glanced at Perdita, who was clearly wondering where the glowing butterflies had disappeared to, and then looked back at her old professor.

'But half the time, when I'm home alone with her, I can't help but think about my desk at the Auror Office,' she said. 'It's the most curious thing. I mean, there's nothing extraordinary about that desk, and Merlin knows I spent far too many hours sitting in it, wishing I were elsewhere, when I had exams coming up, but… but I can't help but think, what if? What if things were different? What if I were back there, and had been certified along with Akemi and the boys, and could go out and do fieldwork and actually help to make a _difference_?'

Dumbledore looked as though he wanted to say something, but, to his credit, he stayed silent still and let Minerva vent the rest of her conflicted thoughts.

'I know that Moody says that the research that I'm doing is really helpful to the Auror Office. And I know that he's right, and that I am making a difference, in my own small way. But I don't feel like I was meant to stay indoors while others risked their lives for me, Professor. I'd rather be the one out there, in the line of fire, than the one sitting indoors, being helpful but ultimately useless. If I didn't have her, or Jeff, or the house, or all of the rest of it, then maybe I'd still be back in the Bloomsbury house with Akemi, actually _doing_ things, instead of being trapped indoors all day while my husband gets to go out to work and live his own life somewhere else.'

She stopped, and, not knowing what else to do, attacked her salad with her fork.

'Minerva McGonagall, in search of a room of her own,' mused Dumbledore. 'Well, I can't claim to understand your frustration from first-hand experience, but if it helps at all, I can assure you that the Auror Office will still be there once you've sent Miss Perdita off on the Hogwarts Express and find your days a bit too unoccupied.'

'Hopefully the war will be over by then,' said Minerva with a definite sulk to her voice.

'The Auror Office almost certainly will be needed as direly after the war as during,' said Dumbledore darkly. 'And, as human nature sadly seems in little danger of changing to something kinder and less malicious anytime soon, I have no doubt that you will see many memorable and horrifying things during a long, post-child-rearing career, should you choose to pursue one.'

'Eleven years is a long time,' Minerva sighed, lending Perdita a finger to grab.

'Take it from an experienced teacher, Minerva: Children grow up fast. You'll be surprised to find out how much so. Your seven years at Hogwarts may have dragged on for you, but for we who are more accustomed to navigating the channels of time, those same years flew by. I know it may seem incredible – and, in all honesty, time is the most incredible and indescribable substance we can possibly imagine – but you'll have to trust me.' Dumbledore paused to take a sip of water. 'So, what is Alastor hoping that you'll discover in a Viennese daily?'

'Unusual goings-on. I'm not sure how else to describe it.'

'Unusual? How so?'

'Disappearances, crimes stemming from discrimination, vigilante and paramilitary violence against minorities. Things that _The Prophet_ might not find important enough to report, but which fall into disturbing patterns when compiled all together.'

'I see.' Dumbledore's voice was weary with understanding. 'And?'

'Mostly attacks against Muggle-borns, obviously, but we've noticed that there have been a disproportionate number against even purebloods of Jewish and Gypsy descent. I haven't yet done any research as to why that might be…'

'Well, I may be able to help you on that count,' Dumbledore cut in heavily. 'Be sure to scold Alastor on my behalf for never reading the Muggle literature that I send him.'

'I'm sure Akemi has been telling him about the goings-on…'

'In the Anglophone Muggle world, perhaps,' Dumbledore interrupted again, 'but the continent is rather different culturally than even we here in Britain, let alone the countries across the Atlantic.' He sighed. 'Did you ever take Muggle Studies, Minerva?'

'No,' she confessed, 'I took Arithmancy, instead.'

'Hmm. I wish that someone would make the class part of the standard curriculum at Hogwarts, but alas, there are only so many hours in the day. You obviously have been raised conscious of the overarching importance that some in our world stake on so-called "blood purity," of course. Beyond that, some striate society based on economic prosperity, some on the national origin of a person's family, and occasionally on religion, although that plays such a small part in the modern cultural life of most British magical families.'

'Old families, at least,' clarified Minerva.

'Indeed. I hope I can speak to you as one who also managed to remain, er, mostly conscious during the better part of Professor Binns' class, in which case you will remember the Accord of Anglia?'

'1811?'

'1812, if memory serves,' corrected Dumbledore. 'Regardless of date, it was the event during which the wizarding community of the British Isles determined to downplay differentiating magical citizens of the country based on their traditional religions or national origins or blood status, in the hopes of binding the dwindling population even more tightly together and thereby preventing its extinction. Obviously, the last of these criteria has died a slower death amongst the general wizarding population than the first two, but even so, the gradual elimination of cultural stigmatisation based on religion or nationality has been gradually accomplished, and all in all has been a rather good thing. By the time Muggle groups in Ireland began to initiate acts of violence in the name of Irish independence, a few decades before you were born, the Irish wizarding community had somewhat forgotten the nationalist and religious motivations of their Muggle compatriots, and indeed regarded the Irish Republican Army's actions with some alarm, although since many decided to be naturalised into the Muggles' newly-created Irish state, I think they've regained a considerable amount of their cultural pride.

'In the Muggle world, however, blood status, at least as we define it, is unheard of; the closest equivalent has to do with inclusion in political systems called monarchies and aristocracies, which are falling out of favour as more and more countries adopt parliamentary democracies like our Ministry, or are overturned by autocrats, like in Russia. Those who feel it necessary to divide and stratify Muggle society, then, still place much emphasis on religion, national origin, and even the colour of a person's skin. And these become the basis of scapegoating, in the way that so many problems in the wizarding community are unjustly blamed upon Muggle-borns.'

'Like Akemi's family being imprisoned by the Muggle government in America,' Minerva said. 'But that doesn't explain why the wizarding community in Europe is beginning to adopt the same mentality.'

'Which brings me to my original point.' Dumbledore paused to take a sip of tea. 'I would wager practically everything I own on the assumption that Grindelwald cares at little for these distinctions as you do. However, he is playing into the same sort of racial hysteria to cater to the whims of the most powerful and useful tools he can find.' Dumbledore frowned into the bottom of his tea cup. 'Tell me, Minerva, how would you go about legally arresting a person who has not committed a crime?'

'Er…' Minerva shrugged. 'Change the laws, I suppose?'

'That's one way, certainly, and Herr Hitler has had no compunctions about doing so, to persecute his targeted groups. How else?'

'Accuse them falsely, or frame them?'

'Certainly, but Grindelwald is craftier than that. What else?'

'I… can't think of anything else. You'd have to force them to do something illegal, otherwise.'

'Precisely. The stereotype of the typical German being a terribly law-abiding individual has a rather solid foundation in truth, and I can't think of a country that has been more vigilant – indeed, nearly obsessive – about upholding the international laws forbidding the use of magic before Muggles. This being the case, whom would you send to arrest a wizard or a witch: a band of Aurors, against which the targeted person in question would be able to engage in a fair magical fight; or a band of highly armed and unyieldingly fanatical Muggle _Schutzstaffel_ , against which the victim could do nothing but go quietly, fight by hand, or attempt to flee, without becoming legally wanted by every other magical government?'

'That's ridiculous,' cut in Minerva. 'Hasn't our Wizengamot held votes to change the rule in Britain, at the very least, so that we can provide legal asylum to the people being persecuted?'

'It has, with no success yet,' sighed Dumbledore wearily. 'To do so would require a long and arduous dissection of the international treaty that unified the law, and there are plenty of protective measures tied up in that, which I'm sure many less-educated officials would not even dare to imperil in times as uncertain as these.'

'So Grindelwald is using Hitler's people against the easiest targets, at present? The witches and wizards who are both Muggle-born, and also Jewish or Gypsy…'

'Or disabled, or openly homosexual, the list goes on.'

'So, what?' Minerva tapped her fork impatiently against the edge of her plate. 'You're implying that every single government across Europe is so law-abiding that they'll uphold an absurd international law, rather than do the moral thing?'

'Oh, not every government is so upstanding, of course,' said Dumbledore lightly, though he still frowned. 'But you have to see that, by being able to legally arrest so many Muggle-born witches and wizards, Grindelwald is able to hold them up as models of why Muggle-borns cannot be trusted, enflaming all sorts of deep-rooted prejudices. Those who support the poor souls being unjustly detained live in constant fear that Grindelwald will turn the tables and argue that they are more intent on protecting a group of rabble-rousers than they are the safety and secrecy of the magical community; those who support Grindelwald and his ideology only see what they have grown up hearing, which is that Muggle-borns are deceitful and would sell out the magical community, as it were, to gain some position of influence in Muggle society after the rest of us have been burned at the stake, or whatever the more-effective modern equivalent might be.'

'That sounds hopeless,' said Minerva bitterly.

'Nothing is ever hopeless,' Dumbledore reminded her gently. 'But culture cannot be legislated, and it takes decades, sometimes centuries, to change minds that have been taught to cling to even the most irrational hatred.'

Minerva sighed and, seeing that her daughter had kicked her blanket askew, tucked it back into place.

'It's funny,' she remarked. 'I know that I was lucky enough to be educated at one of the best schools in the world, and I'm grateful for it, every day. You can't imagine how much I miss Hogwarts, Professor.'

'Having once been a recent graduate myself, I think I might,' hinted Dumbledore, 'but go on.'

'Well, I know that, academically-speaking, I'm on more solid ground than the vast majority of the world. But there are so many things that one doesn't learn in school. How to calculate taxes, for example; or how to reach out to an increasingly distant… friend.' (She had been on the verge of saying 'spouse,' but felt that this was the last thing that she wanted to discuss with Dumbledore.) 'And I realise more and more every day how little I know about what it means to be a good parent. I personally believe that my parents were excellent role models, but how do I live up to their standard in teaching my daughter what is right or wrong in the world? And how do I even know that the beliefs that I was taught as a child are the right ones? I'm sure that many Muggle parents in Germany who send their children to that Hitler Youth programme believe that they are honestly doing the right thing for the children that they love, even if I believe to the core of my being that nothing good can come out of such an action.'

'Who can say?' Dumbledore shrugged. 'If I were permitted to introduce any new course that I desired into the Hogwarts curriculum, and it had to be something arguably more practical for daily life than Mediaeval Species Counterpoint Notation, then it would be Philosophy. Just think, Minerva – the ancient Greeks and their intellectual descendants developed a whole intricate world of thought, based purely on careful observation of the world and rigorous evaluation of the soundness of ideas! If every young person on earth were taught how to objectively look at every idea from all angles, and how to validate or invalidate it on the basis of its unbiased merits, imagine how much better our choices would be as parents, as professors, and, indeed, as human beings.'

'Why on earth don't we learn Philosophy, then?' asked Minerva, who thought that the field sounded immensely sensible by Dumbledore's brief description.

'Alas, because it is a field that was pioneered by Muggles,' sighed Dumbledore, 'and even here in fair Britannia, we have held onto certain prejudices longer than we ourselves realise. Besides, if you asked around Hogwarts, most members of the Board would inform you that learning rational problem-solving techniques is a waste of time in a world where magic can solve so many problems.' He drained the tea at the bottom of his cup and stood, the tip of his long auburn beard brushing the table top. 'But enough of this. I think that you have some memories that need seeing to – and no, Minerva, put your purse away, lunch is always my treat if I'm dining with former students. Shall we go up to the castle?'

* * *

Albus could still remember the first time that he had set foot inside Hogwarts as an alumnus, and he could see the same mixture of emotions flickering across Minerva's face as they entered the Great Hall, deserted for the summer. She stopped in the centre of hall, gazing up at the enchanted ceiling (a docile blue, smeared with faint clouds and void of most of the candles that usually lit the feasts), and seemed a bit embarrassed when she noticed Albus waiting patiently for her.

'Sorry,' she said hastily, quickly catching up to him. 'Somehow, in the seven years I spent here, I can't remember ever having really admired the ceiling before. It's an incredible piece of magic.'

'And a lovely view, too,' agreed Albus, smiling upwards.

'Everything seems twice as beautiful as I remember it,' mused Minerva, shaking her head as they continued onwards through the castle. 'All of the carvings, all of the portraits…'

Several of the nearby portraits puffed themselves up importantly at this assessment, although most were too busy curiously eyeing Minerva – 'What's she doing back here? Didn't she graduate?' shouted an old wizard with an ear trumpet in what was clearly meant to be a whisper – or else waving cheerfully at Perdita, who stared wide-eyed back at them with a slightly worried expression creasing her brow.

'Of course, when you were a student here, you were too busy focusing on your studies to enjoy the scenery,' Albus explained. 'When I first came back here to teach, I told myself I would try to explore a different corner of the castle in depth every month, to get to know every last gargoyle and trick tapestry. However, I quickly found that teaching takes up quite as much time as learning, so that rarely happens nowadays, unless I get lost.'

'I doubt that's very often, Professor,' said Minerva with a smile, 'seeing as very few people have spent as many years here as you have.'

'Be that as it may, this castle is so extraordinary in part because it is ever changing,' replied Albus fondly. 'Yes, it may drive me slightly mad that the staircases won't consistently take me to the same place, but isn't that part of the fun of living in a castle with a mind of its own and innumerable secrets to uncover? Of course, there are some days when I wish that some bored student would invent an ingenious map that charts every change being made to the castle as it occurs; but alas, none has yet, and I'm sure that if anyone ever did, it would be used only for the utmost mischief, like sneaking to Honeydukes via secret passageways, or tracking friends and foes through the castle.'

It being late August, the students were still away, probably packing their trunks for the start of the new term. Albus always imagined that he would enjoy the quiet of summer in the castle – more time for research, he always told himself – but the productivity that he always anticipated upon the departure of his pupils never appeared in as much abundance as he wished. In part, he suspected, it was because the vast majority of his peers also left for the summer, to conduct research abroad or to visit family and friends; it was much harder to think up innovative ideas without constant inspiration from daily staff room conversations with the preeminent experts in their own respective academic circles.

'Oh, for heaven's sake, why don't you go on holiday as well, then, Albus?' Galatea had told him countless times as May warmed into June. 'You might gain some inspiration from going abroad… maybe the problem you're destined to solve is waiting for you across the Channel somewhere, or even further afield!'

Albus had always politely thanked her, but declined. Truth be told, he was happiest at Hogwarts. Notwithstanding the mysterious Petrification attacks of the previous year, he felt safer on the grounds of the castle than anywhere else on earth. Perhaps it was because he knew the good that he could do in ensuring that the school was as safe as possible for its students; perhaps it was because he knew that the scope of his ambition was constrained safely within academia, as it might not be in Westminster or other political fora. Whatever the case, Albus rarely ventured away from the castle unless he had to, even given the ease with which a wizard of his international stature and high Portkey clearance could potentially travel abroad.

'Do you know what exactly it is that Anikó's left you?' he asked Minerva, his mind half elsewhere. 'What sorts of memories?'

'Nothing pleasant, I know. Moody said something about them being from an ill Muggle whom Professor Bagolyi met and harboured before he died. These are his memories, as she remembers them.'

'They'll be doubly fragmented, then, and especially if she had to give them to you quickly, without much premeditation. Have you learned much about memory review, either here or at the Ministry?'

Minerva shook her head.

'There's no way to get a full picture of anyone else's memories,' explained Albus, 'especially given how subject to personal interpretation anyone's own memories are for themselves. When a giver of memories hasn't had time to fill in the gaps of someone else's memories, to the best of his or her abilities and postulations, then the best that you'll receive is mere flashes, suggestions, sometimes just images.'

'Will it be at all useful?'

'No doubt. Impressions can't deliver a narrative, but they can tell a story of their own. Part of your job as the receiver is to fill in some of the blanks yourself, you know.'

They had reached Albus's office door, and he held it open for Minerva and her baby. Albus had to confess to being rather pleased at the smile that crept over Minerva's face as she took stock of Fawkes dozing on his perch and the familiar whirring silver contraptions scattered across his shelves and desk.

'What's this?' she asked, stepping forward to examine a half-exposed mirror leaning demurely against the wall, a dusty tasselled velvet curtain draped from one corner.

'Nothing that you need to worry about,' Albus said, stepping forward and flicking the curtain back across the entire frame of the mirror, so that it obscured his view of a pair of familiar blue eyes shooting him a resentful glare over the shoulder of his own reflection.

Minerva opened her mouth as if to say something, but seemed to decide otherwise, and instead pushed the pram into a safe corner of the office.

'I have the memories here,' she said instead, pulling a small bottle from within her robes.

Albus nodded and Summoned the Pensieve from its cabinet with a wave of his wand.

'Would you like me to preview them first?' he said gently as the basin floated to a halt just above his desk and landed softly on the wooden surface with a dull _thunk_.

Minerva took a seat at the desk and shook her head, her jaw set determinedly.

'Thank you, Professor, but this is my job, and I'd better get used to it sooner rather than later.'

'As you wish,' sighed Albus, hoping that he had some chocolate stowed away somewhere.

Minerva uncorked the bottle and poured it in, shaking it slightly so that every last strand of thought dripped into the swirling surface of the Pensieve. She put the bottle aside and placed her hands facedown on the desk on either side of the Pensieve, exhaling deeply as she did.

'And I just lower my face in?' she asked with a touch of hesitation in her voice.

Albus nodded.

Minerva nodded once tersely, took a deep breath, and plunged her face forward.

Albus was far more used to using the Pensieve than he was watching others use it, and he quickly realised that it was far more frightening to be an onlooker. No more than four seconds had passed since she had dove into the Pensieve before her entire body clenched, her hands gripping into fists that continued to tighten. And then she began to shake uncontrollably. Perdita, who had been half asleep, quickly noticed her mother's apparent distress and began to cry. Fawkes opened one eye and began to trill in a low, anxious tone. After only a quarter of a minute, Albus could not bear the situation any longer.

'Minerva,' he said, putting a hand on her quivering shoulder and lifting her face out of the Pensieve.

'Oh, god,' she gasped, burying her face in her hands and letting out a sob.

Albus quickly moved around to the other side of his desk and rummaged in a drawer for a chocolate bar. Fortunately, given his constant state of anxiety these days, he quickly located three bars of Honeydukes Best, one of which he handed to Minerva.

'Can you talk about it?' he asked softly.

Minerva looked up, blinking tears out of her eyes. She took a deep breath that caught in her throat and shook her head. With a call as soft and rich as gold, Fawkes fluttered off his perch and landed softly on Minerva's shoulder, leaning his scarlet-plumed head against her own, which seemed to give her resolve to try to speak again.

'There were,' she croaked, and then took another shaky breath to steady herself. 'First there were men, starving men, tied together and lined up on the banks of a river, and the soldiers simply walked behind the row, with mallets, and with knives that were strapped to their hands, and… And there were women, too, with their breasts hacked off and bleeding and festering… And then screams from where the soldiers were… were burning people alive in brick buildings…'

She broke down again in tears, but took a small bite of chocolate and then, gently nudging Fawkes off her shoulder and onto the rim of the Pensieve, went to fetch Perdita from her pram. The need to calm her own child seemed to ground Minerva slightly, Albus noticed, as she sat down again, gently bouncing Perdita in her arms.

'The last memory was Professor Bagolyi's,' Minerva said, still sniffing back tears. 'It was her memory of first meeting this man. He was… more a ragged skeleton than a man. Completely disoriented, and clearly very ill. And he was so afraid of her, of everything, it seemed. He kept on repeating one word over and over again, begging her, it seemed, but I don't know what the word means.'

'What was it?'

' _Jasenovac_. I'll have to look it up. It must be Serbo-Croatian, or Romani.'

There was a long moment of silence. Perdita had stopped whimpering, now that she was being securely rocked, and Minerva took another bite of chocolate. Fawkes had been peering down into the Pensieve, his beak nearly brushing the milky surface of the basin, but as shapes began to twist and clarify within the mass of thoughts, he leapt from the edge of the Pensieve and, in a soft rustle of feathers, alit on his perch again.

'Professor,' said Minerva finally, 'she said something to me just before she died, Professor Bagolyi, I mean. She told me to tell you that "the web must not catch fire." Does that have anything to do with all of this?'

Albus smiled sadly.

'That is absolutely something about which you don't need to worry, Minerva, especially not directly after seeing things as traumatic as what you have just seen.'

'I'm sorry for how shaken I am right now, Professor. I never had… I really didn't expect it to be so _jarring_ , seeing…'

'Neither did I. No-one does, I don't think. It's a more powerful and disturbing experience than I think anyone realises, before actually witnessing it themselves. I had seen people die before, of course, but it's quite different when you watch someone consciously and willingly and unconsentingly take the life of another. It shows human nature at its very darkest.'

'Have you ever killed someone?' Minerva asked seriously, watching him as she took another bite of chocolate.

Albus shuddered involuntarily. From the depths of his memory came Aberforth's screams of accusation, barely penetrating through the shock that had gripped his teenage self upon seeing Ariana's little body crumpled on the floor, smaller than it had been in life, her face frozen wide-eyed in a cry of distress.

'Yes,' he replied shortly. 'And if fate is at all kind to me, I will never have to do so again.'

'I shouldn't have asked, I'm sorry.'

'If I hadn't wanted to answer, then I wouldn't have done so. I only hope that you and your colleagues at the Auror Office will be able to survive the duration of this war without having to take any lives yourself. It can be difficult to sleep at night.'

'Is that why you're watching us?' Minerva blurted.

Albus raised an eyebrow.

'Watching you?'

'In your mirror over there,' she clarified, gesturing with the Honeydukes towards the velvet-shrouded mirror against the wall. 'When I glanced at it, I saw my desk at the Auror Office reflected in it, and Akemi at her desk talking to Moody, and Fawcett and Donaghy and…'

'Very interesting,' Albus murmured, steepling his fingers with a smile. 'I wonder if you would still see the same if you took a look now?'

Minerva glanced at Albus sceptically, then put her chocolate down, rose with Perdita in her arms, and crossed to the other side of the room. With a tug, she pulled the velvet curtain from the mirror and looked in.

'And please don't feel obligated to tell me what it is you see,' Albus told her before she could speak. 'Although if it is still the Ministry, I would be curious to know, just for the sake of comparison.'

'Not the Ministry,' said Minerva in a constricted voice, draping the curtain back over the mirror. 'I don't suppose it tells the future?'

'Only if we all are given the power to make our dreams come true.'

'Heaven forbid,' laughed Minerva mirthlessly. 'My dreams are nothing but nightmares of late, what with all the news Moody has me reading.'

'Do you need a sleeping potion? I can see if Madam Malus has any on hand…'

'No, no,' insisted Minerva, waving her hand, 'I can always ask my… I'm fine.'

'If you say so.' Albus paused. 'Would you be upset if I asked Alastor to pass along your reports to him? It will be his decision entirely to say whether or not that's too far outside of Ministry protocol, but if you would prefer that I didn't ask…'

'No, please, go ahead,' said Minerva wearily. 'I haven't been writing much down for him in paragraph form; he prefers me to tell him things, and let him know if I've put together any connections, rather than read lengthy reports. But if he says it's fine, I can send you copies of my notes.'

'Thank you. That will be very helpful, indeed. More chocolate?'

'No, thank you.' Minerva glanced at the clock on the wall. 'I might try to catch the early train back into town. Perhaps I'm being silly, but I suddenly would much rather be home before dark, even with the wards.'

'Wards?' repeated Albus, frowning.

'Yes, the Ministry's augmented magical security around our house, ever since Professor Bagolyi's death. They still haven't caught her murderer, and they're afraid that he may have overheard Akemi shout our address into the Floo network.' Minerva smiled weakly. 'What an insane world we live in.'

'Indeed.' Albus frowned. 'If I were you, I would consider moving elsewhere, Minerva. At least until the war is over.'

'If the war is ever over,' Minerva responded bleakly, putting Perdita back into her pram. 'Good heavens, I've become such a pessimist, and I'm barely a year out of school.'

'Just remember that there is also much good in the world, and many good people, too,' Albus reminded her gently. 'And if anything is ever troubling you, anything at all, no matter how trivial it may seem, I will always be more than happy to offer my advice, or even just to listen.'

'Thank you, Professor,' said Minerva with a hesitant smile. 'I can get back to Hogsmeade fine on my own. I'll send you my reports, once I've heard from Moody that he's spoken to you and gives his consent.'

'I'll send him an owl post haste. Thank you, Minerva.'

'Of course.'

'And you're quite sure you're feeling completely well?'

'Yes.' Minerva took a deep breath and looked her erstwhile professor in the eye. 'Well, no, but I'll manage. When I finally get back to my workplace full-time, Professor, I intend to be very, very good at my job. And if that means learning to deal with reality sooner rather than later, then I can and will do that.'

'So I can see,' replied Albus, 'although there should never be shame in taking time to recover when one needs it.'

'I'll eat my chocolate on the train,' Minerva said with mild indignation, picking up her half-eaten bar and stuffing it into her robes.

'As well you should,' laughed Albus with a worried smile. He rose and held the door for Minerva as she wheeled the pram out. 'Have a safe trip home, and do stay in touch.'

'I will. Thank you, Professor.'

Albus watched her until she and the baby disappeared round the corner of the corridor, then shut his office door and pulled the velvet curtain off of the Mirror.

There stood his reflection, as it always did. And there beside him were Aberforth, who never acknowledged his presence even when they were in the same room, and Ariana, bright-eyed and inquisitive as she had been before the attack. For a moment, Albus felt something lighten within himself, certain that he had finally escaped. But suddenly, from behind his own tall reflection stepped that of a handsome, blond boy, who winked at Albus with a smile that stopped just short of his intense gaze.

'So I'm not free of you yet, Gellert,' muttered Albus to himself, casting the velvet curtain back across the Mirror, a single tear wending its way slowly down the contours of his crooked nose.

* * *

'Your hero, Yukawa, is driving me quite mad,' grumbled Moody, loping into the office and up to where Akemi and Juilan Boot were finalising a wager on whether the Americans would beat the Canadians in their Quidditch match in Toronto that weekend.

'Oh?'

'Albus Percival Wulfric bloody Brian Dumbledore,' snarled Moody, crumpling a piece of parchment in his fist and dropping it onto Akemi's desk.

'Really trips off the tongue, that,' smirked Boot.

'Shut it, Boot,' replied Moody, then lowered his voice. 'Do you two think I should give him access to some of our office's reports?'

Akemi and Boot swapped a glance.

'Does he have a security clearance?' asked Akemi in a barely-pitched whisper.

'He doesn't _need_ a clearance.'

'Yes, he does, Moody,' replied Akemi with quiet earnestness. 'Really, it's against the law to give classified intelligence to someone who doesn't have one, no matter how important he is.'

'It's not _classified_ intelligence,' snapped Moody in an undertone. 'It's all the notes from the open news sources that McGonagall's been reviewing.'

'Cunningham,' responded both Akemi and Boot automatically, more out of habit than out of any expectation that Moody would ever respect that Minerva had a married name.

'And what's the problem, then?' added Boot.

'The problem is that the Minister for Magic will have my head on a plate if he knows that I gave Dumbledore anything,' growled Moody. 'Man's incredibly paranoid about anything from government offices going anywhere, even public information going to people who we know to be loyal citizens. It'll be my head on a platter if he gets word of this, or worse, my job going to some blithering idiot like that Bartemius Crouch git.'

'No-one would be _that_ stupid,' Boot reassured him quietly while Akemi stifled a snort of laughter with her hand. 'Heaven forbid that that self-righteous sycophant rise anywhere high enough in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to matter.'

'Ah, so more's the pity that the Minister prefers that sort of Ministry drone,' sighed Moody, crossing his arms and sitting grumpily on the edge of Akemi's desk. 'No doubt the Minister's staff have already got their eyes trained on me as a rules-dodging rabble-rouser.'

'I wonder why,' Akemi remarked drily.

'Quiet, you,' growled Moody, waving his hand at his two bemused underlings, his volume escalating with his irritation. 'If only there were half-sensible people around here anymore who cared more about getting the job done than how _exactly_ it'd gotten done… if Aeneas McGonagall were well enough to be back on the job, I'm sure he'd…'

'What would my dad do, Moody?' asked a voice from the entrance of the office.

'Minerva!' exclaimed Akemi, leaping up from her desk and rushing over to help Minerva manoeuvre the baby's pram over the carpet and around the Exploding Snap cards that Fawcett and Boot had left strewn across it. 'And you've brought in little Perdita, too!'

'Merlin's beard,' remarked Boot, waving his fingers at Perdita with a ridiculous smile stretching across his face.

'McGonagall, what the hell are you doing here?' Moody was trying his hardest to sound annoyed, but failing ever so slightly. 'Didn't I tell you that bringing a baby into the Ministry is an incredibly risky, stupid, foolish…'

'Nice to see you, too,' she retorted, smiling through what Moody suddenly perceived was exhaustion. 'Could I have a private word?'

'Only if you promise to get out of here immediately after,' he grumbled, gesturing her through his office door and closing it behind him, leaving Akemi to look after the baby and Boot to look on in bemusement.

'You were right, something is seriously wrong on the continent,' said Minerva without preamble.

Moody was on the verge of snidely pointing out that there did happen to be a war on the continent, after all, but stopped when he saw the look on Minerva's face, and then realised why she was at the Ministry, as well as Anikó's descriptions of the types of memories that she had entrusted the Ministry to review.

'I looked through Professor Bagolyi's memories,' Minerva said quietly, 'and it seems that there is systematic detention and slaughter of civilians occurring, which I'm sure she told you. Civilians, Moody, not combatants. Men, women, even children, being rounded up and butchered like animals, and not by hysterical pogroms or mobs, either, but by organised and terrifyingly efficient militias.'

'And this was in Serbia, or wherever Anikó said the bloke was from?' asked Moody, frowning.

'She said he was Croatian. I couldn't understand what language they were speaking; it probably was somewhere in Croatia, or Serbia. The point is, who's to say that this kind of behaviour isn't widespread across the Balkans, or even other parts of Europe? The Ministry should be doing a full-fledged investigation into these sorts of flagrant abuses of power, undercover, if need be. I mean, to start with, we know there are ghettos in Warsaw, in Budapest, in Prague…'

'Wait a minute, McGonagall,' said Moody, his frown deepening as he held up a hand, 'we know that there are _Muggle_ ghettos in those cities, and you know as well as I do that the Ministry is not going to authorise us to act unless there are wizards or witches _directly involved_. Can you prove that there were any magical persons being persecuted in this, what would you call it, this camp?'

'Well, no, but…'

'Then there's nothing that we can officially do about it, not using Ministry funding or personnel. Especially if they're not British citizens, which are technically the people whose well-being we should be prioritising…'

'I don't care if they're Muggles,' snapped Minerva, her voice rising, 'and I don't care if they're not British citizens, they're being brutally murdered by their own governments! It's unconscionable, Moody! We have to do _something_.'

'We do,' said Moody, nodding, 'and it's to stop this war as soon as possible. But we can't send a rescue mission off to Eastern Europe to rescue Muggles, not using Ministry resources.'

'I have family over there, Moody!' fumed Minerva. 'My sister-in-law is in Prague, probably crammed into a corner of that ghetto, unable to communicate with us at all because of government restrictions…'

'I said, McGonagall, _not using Ministry resources_.'

Minerva paused and stared at Moody, who gave her a very significant look and then glanced meaningfully around the walls of his office. Minerva nodded and then slowly rubbed her eyes, a sigh of comprehension escaping her lips.

'Sorry.'

'You seem exhausted, by the way,' he added unhelpfully.

'I've seen some things I can't very well un-see, Moody,' she responded simply.

'Hm, well.' Moody cleared his throat and shot Minerva a glance. 'Fancy a bit of fresh air? Might wake you up a bit.'

'I… yes, why not.'

'Leave the kid for the moment,' Moody muttered to Minerva as they left through the other door of Moody's office. 'She'll be fine, so long as Yukawa keeps an eye on her and doesn't let Boot drop her on her head.'

Within three minutes, the two were walking along the Thames near the Muggle Parliament, clothes discreetly Transfigured to those of Muggles.

'You don't really think that anyone is spying on the Auror Office, do you?' Minerva asked in a low voice.

'One can never be too careful,' responded Moody, shooting a suspicious glance at the suited businessmen passing them on the street. 'Constant vigilance, McGonagall. It turns out that the Minister for Magic's been implementing a lot of unwarranted surveillance all around the Ministry, ever since the insider attack. He's been suspicious of everyone in the bloody Government, and fanatical about trying to control information as tightly as possible, giving access to only people directly employed by the Ministry. There's been talk of prosecuting people who feed Ministry-authored information of any type to people outside of the Ministry, even information that isn't at all secret or classified. So my main concern is that the Minister's office will start listening in too closely on discussions of our less-orthodox practices and find them to be objectionable, even if perfectly legal. Like giving Dumbledore access to your notes. Or having you act as an unofficial researcher at all, actually.'

'You will do it, though, won't you? Moody, Professor Dumbledore has a holistic understanding of the situation across Europe that I can't even _begin_ to imagine developing on my own, both within the Muggle and magical worlds. I'm simply writing down names and dates, but he knows enough about history and recent politics to be able to tell me _why_ this is all happening.'

'I know.' Moody sighed. 'The Minister won't be pleased at all, but all's fair in love and war, and I've got to use the best analysis that I can get, regardless of where it comes from.'

'And about the Muggles…'

'Yeah.' Moody shot her a glance. 'I'm sorry about your husband's family, McGonagall. You haven't heard from them?'

'His sister and I used to write each other fairly regularly. She's a few years younger than me. But then her letters just stopped coming. I don't know if she even continued to receive mine.' Minerva chewed her lip for a moment, deep in thought, and then looked at Moody resolutely. 'Well, Moody, as you mentioned, I don't technically work for you right now. I'm not Ministry resources.'

'For the moment.' Moody scratched his head, staring out over the river. 'But I'm not going to let you do anything rash, either, McGonagall, however much you want to Portkey to Berlin right this instant and hex Himmler to smithereens.'

' _Hitler_ , Moody,' Minerva corrected him. 'Hitler's the Muggle Head of Government. Himmler is one of his cronies.'

'I can never keep them straight, they're all uniformed bastards who need to be stopped,' growled Moody. He sighed. 'Look, I promise you that, within a few months, we'll find a way to get someone to go do a bit of investigative work on the continent…'

'Me, you mean?'

'For Christ's sake, McGonagall, _no_ ,'snapped Moody. 'You do have a small child, if you didn't remember!'

'You can't spare anyone else, and I'm the only person in London who's been trained through the Auror Office's protocols and who no-one will miss if absent,' Minerva argued.

'Absolutely not,' muttered Moody to himself.

'Moody, what if the perfect opportunity arises? The sort of chance where I'd be able to go in for only a few days and look at things in a relatively safe situation, and just get a feel for what's happening? I promise I wouldn't go rampaging about stupidly, trying to bring people to justice on my own, and it would make me indescribably more useful as an analyst, you have to admit.'

'McGonagall…'

'Please, Moody, promise me that if that sort of chance comes up, you won't tell me I can't go. Just promise me that, and I swear I won't push you on the issue again, unless the perfect scenario arises.'

'Fine.'

'Really?'

'I mean, if the perfect scenario arose… Merlin, let's discuss it later,' sighed Moody, clearly torn. 'In the meantime, though, I need you to send Dumbledore copies of your notes, in as discreet a manner as possible. Don't put your name on them, or any other form of communication sent with them. He'll know who they're from, and that way, your identity will be safe, in case they're intercepted by any unsavoury characters, or worse, our Government'

'I'll do so tonight, although I should add that it's perfectly legal if I send Dumbledore anything, Moody,' Minerva added. 'If I'm not being directly hired by the Ministry at present, then you technically have no responsibility over who else gets the information that I'm compiling, even if the Ministry is also using it as a resource for its intelligence.'

Moody shook his head admiringly.

'You'd better stop saying things like that, McGonagall, or I might just not hire you back when you're ready to re-enter the workforce.'

'And you'd better stop saying things like _that_ , Moody, or I might just not want to come back when I'm ready to re-enter the workforce.'

'Lies,' scoffed Moody as they headed back towards the Ministry. 'Look at you, McGonagall, I tell you to put some space between you and this pit of vipers that we call our Government, and you simply can't bear to stay away.' He scowled. 'Really, do keep clear of Westminster as much as possible, though. I waste far too much time and energy keeping an eye on Yukawa and the boys to make sure nothing happens to them, and I don't need you adding to the stress…'

Minerva laughed sympathetically, and thanked Moody for holding open the door to the enchanted telephone booth that would take her back down to the Atrium.

* * *

Given how earnest Moody had been about her staying away from the Ministry, it came as quite a surprise to Minerva when she received an urgent message from him just a few days later, demanding that she meet him in St James's Park within the hour.

'I take it something must be up?' asked her father from his hospital bed, smiling bemusedly as Minerva frantically gathered her things together. 'That owl was ready to break through the window…'

'Moody at his most hysterical,' she replied, looking around for where she had left the Polish newspaper that she had been reading in the waiting room of St Mungo's.

'Oh dear,' sighed Aeneas, a smile quirking the corners of his mouth. 'Try to stay out of the line of fire, then.'

'I don't think it's anything that I've done, Dad,' said Minerva pensively, pausing for a moment. 'It might be… well, we'll see. I'll let you know when I find out. He says to come meet him without telling anyone, but…'

'My lips are sealed. And, incidentally, give my regards to Alastor,' said Aeneas tranquilly, raising his hand slightly in a wave (he had only just regained some slight control over his right arm).

'Bye, Dad,' called Minerva as she rushed out into the waiting room. 'Mum, I have to run, something work-related, but I'll be back as soon as possible. Can you watch the baby for now?'

'I suppose so,' replied Alexia, betraying only a moment of surprise, 'but I was planning to go back to Scotland tonight, so if you could let me know when you'll be back…?'

'Couldn't say, Mum, sorry,' said Minerva, giving her mother a quick peck on the cheek. 'Probably an hour? I'll try to be back before she wakes up – see you later.'

And with that, she rushed out the door. Alexia shook her head and pushed the pram to the door of her husband's hospital room.

'Well, no one can ever accuse Minerva of not being your daughter,' she sighed. 'Did you see how eager she was to get back to the Ministry?'

'To be fair, if I knew that Alastor Moody would bark a bit louder at me for every minute that I was late, I would hurry, too,' replied Aeneas evenly, who wouldn't have hesitated an instant to confessing pride for the fact that his daughter took her work so seriously.

For all she took her work seriously, though, Minerva was far later in getting to St James's Park than she intended. Apparition was impossible from inside St Mungo's; there were too many Muggles on the streets surrounding the Hospital for her to risk one of them seeing her Apparate; and as Minerva technically had not taken her Apparition exam, she opted to deal with racing through the streets in a comparatively restrictive Muggle dress, rather than risk injuring herself or anyone else through an incorrect transfer. Moody was impatiently checking his watch when Minerva arrived panting at the park and spotted him seated on a bench in a business suit, attempting to feign watching the swans on the pond.

'There you are, I was afraid you'd been attacked,' he grumbled as she sat down on the bench beside him. 'Code word?'

'Cockroach Cluster,' she gasped, repeating what Moody had written her in his message. 'What's so urgent?'

'We're catching a Portkey to Hogsmeade in approximately one minute,' he responded out of the corner of his mouth, glancing about to ensure that no one was watching them as Minerva sat down next to him.

'A Portkey to Hogsmeade?' Minerva coughed back at him, still slightly winded. 'Moody, I just left my daughter with my mum, I thought I'd be back in an hour or so, I didn't realise you were…'

'Sorry, sorry,' snapped Moody, not sounding sorry at all. 'I'll apologise to your mum for you, McGonagall, if it will do any good, but frankly, I think that national security trumps inconveniencing family, for the moment. Oh, good, nobody watching…'

'I don't suppose you're going to tell me what's going on?' Minerva asked him, annoyed. 'What's this about national security? And where's this Portkey we're supposed to be taking?'

The next moment, with a lurch, the bench on which they were sitting jolted them through the air, landing them in Hogsmeade next to the Hog's Head.

'In here,' muttered Moody, dragging Minerva to her feet by one elbow and holding open the door of the pub for her. She entered, shaking her head in exasperation.

Minerva could not recall ever having been in the Hog's Head before; it was a dingy, dusty establishment that, though surely not more than a few decades old, appeared nearly completely neglected. The stale air smelled faintly of mouldy straw, causing Minerva's nose to wrinkle reflexively in distaste. A lanky man, with stringy hair that might have been a fading chestnut in better lighting, was absent-mindedly wiping the insides of several tarnished tankards behind a spattered counter.

'We're here to speak with Albus,' Moody muttered to the man.

'And you are?' replied the man insolently.

'Alastor Moody, Head of the Auror Office at the Ministry,' recited Moody impatiently, then lowered his voice and added, 'Cockroach Cluster.'

The bartender nodded and turned on his heel, leaving his filthy cleaning rag on the counter as he strode into the back room.

'Is it sanitary to eat anything served here?' Minerva murmured.

'I wouldn't count on it,' Moody grumbled back, 'but Aberforth probably isn't expecting us to eat anything, anyway.'

Minerva presumed that Aberforth was the name of the grouchy bartender, who looked oddly familiar, although perhaps that was simply because she had seen him around the village during her years at Hogwarts.

'Take a seat,' grunted Aberforth, re-entering the room without looking at them. 'He'll be here soon.'

Minerva and Moody glanced at each other, then down at the bench behind them, and, tacitly deciding it was clean enough to suffice, sat. Not three minutes later, Albus Dumbledore strode through the door behind the bar, looking laughably out of place in brilliant teal robes that practically glowed in the dimness of the pub.

'Thank you, Aberforth,' he said, smiling briefly at the bartender. 'May we use your back room?'

Aberforth shrugged brusquely with one shoulder, his back turned towards the Transfiguration professor as he resumed his unproductive cleaning. Dumbledore seemed to take this as an affirmative and gestured to the others to follow him into the cramped back room of the inn, where Minerva and Moody settled themselves onto a lumpy couch that might have once been pinstriped but was now a worn grey.

'I apologise for insisting that you come here on such short notice,' began Dumbledore gravely, seating himself on the edge of a battered old chair. 'But upon receiving Minerva's first reports, I decided that it would be best to speak to you in person about some of their content, as any other sort of communications might have been intercepted.'

'You're sure that this room is secure, Professor?' asked Minerva, frowning.

'As sure as I am that anywhere is secure anymore,' replied Dumbledore solemnly. 'The greatest advantage that we have at present is secrecy. The suddenness of your departure from London will have made it difficult for anyone to have followed you, and no one could have seen me enter this room, so with a few precautions…'

He waved his wand towards the closed door, sealing the room off from eavesdroppers on the other side. Minerva caught Moody nodding grimly next to her, out of the corner of her eye, and could have sworn that she heard him mumble, 'Constant vigilance!' under his breath.

'Minerva,' Dumbledore said, turning towards her and speaking in a low voice despite his precautions, 'I need you to tell me everything that you read about these events in Poland.'

Minerva blinked, and was about to ask what events Dumbledore meant, when he pressed into her hand a page of her own notes. _Polish intellectuals (Arithmancy scholar Andrzej Czarownik) stopped in Łódź; Portkey to the United States detected by government surveillance; subjected to the Cruciatus Curse?; Mariola Berło tortured to death? (not seen since)_ …

'What do you…?'

'Where their Portkey was going,' said Dumbledore simply. 'Do you remember where in the United States? Did any of the reports say? New York? Washington? Chicago?'

Minerva furrowed her brow.

'No, none of those. I don't remember a specific city being mentioned, and I can't remember the name of the state, it wasn't one that I'd heard much about…'

'It wasn't Tennessee, was it?'

'Yes,' said Minerva; then, with increased certainty, 'yes, it was.'

'I see,' breathed Dumbledore. 'And how many people were there, precisely, including Mr Czarownik and Ms Berło?'

'Five of them, if I remember correctly. I'll have to go review the article for the names of the other three.'

'And no news as to what happened to any of them?'

'I believe that all of them were imprisoned by the authorities for attempting to exit the country on an unauthorised Portkey. Except for Ms Berło, I don't think anyone yet knows what happened to her…'

'Probably dead, those bastards,' growled Moody. 'Figures that they'd murder the only Muggle-born of the group.'

'You knew her?' Minerva asked.

'She was a leading expert in Defence Against the Dark Arts in Poland,' nodded Moody. 'Very feisty little lady, Mariola was. Wicked sense of humour. I hope she took some of her attackers out with her.'

'We don't know if she's actually dead, Alastor,' said Dumbledore firmly. 'If I were her, and I had escaped, I would lie low and let everyone speculate as to the worst.'

'Yeah, well, the worst seems to be the most likely outcome to these scenarios, nowadays,' sniffed Moody.

'I'll keep an eye on any related news,' Minerva offered, feeling less than helpful.

'Please do,' said Dumbledore, 'and especially on events such as this.'

He turned over the paper in Minerva's hands and tapped one phrase scrawled in her handwriting: _Magical shipment confiscated by German Government near Gdansk._

'Was there any more information as to what this shipment was?' Dumbledore asked, his face deadly serious. 'Anything at all?'

'Nothing,' replied Minerva with certainty, for she had been very annoyed herself about the lack of clarity on that point.

'Very well.' Dumbledore sighed and sat back down on the edge of his chair. 'Minerva, I want you to promise that you'll keep an eye on Poland for me, and especially this intercepted magical shipment. Any information relating to any of these incidents that we've just discussed, I would prefer that you communicate to me in person, rather than by writing. If you could send me an owl asking to meet the instant you find anything that seems of any importance, I will be happy to travel to London as soon as possible to meet with you. Can you promise to do that for me?'

'Yes, of course.'

'Thank you, and we'll be in close communication, I'm sure.' Dumbledore turned to Moody. 'Alastor, I need a word in private. Minerva, if you wouldn't mind stepping back into the main area of the pub? And I beg you,' he added, without a hint of laughter in his blue eyes, 'to curb any impulse to eavesdrop, however intriguing private conversations may be by their very nature.'

Minerva nodded and quietly left the room, wandering aimlessly back into the main area of the pub. It was still dark, still dingy, still dirty, and still occupied by only the disgruntled bartender.

'That was quick,' he sniffed.

'Yes,' Minerva replied, unsure of what else to say. She seated herself politely on the passably-clean bench that she and Moody had previously identified and tried to occupy her attention with the uninspiring décor of the pub.

'You a former Hogwarts student?' the man asked gruffly. 'One of Albus's little Gryffindors?'

'I… yes,' answered Minerva, startled. She never would have expected someone who used Dumbledore's given name to spit it with such venom.

Aberforth nodded, a bitter smile twisting his mouth. Then he dropped his rag and leaned over the counter towards Minerva.

'Listen, I know I don't seem like a credible source of advice, by any means,' he said with a self-loathing little chuckle. 'But if you value your happiness and sense of self-worth, stay far away from Albus Dumbledore.'

Minerva stared at him.

'I know, I sound crazy for not being one of his ubiquitous, obsequious hangers-on,' continued Aberforth. 'I mean, look at everyone else in Britain. They admire him. They trust him. They all think that he has their best interests at heart, and that with his cleverness he'll find a way to stop that German bastard and all the chaos he's causing. Fools, all. You may think that Dumbledore cares about you, but he has the power to hurt you worse than you can possibly know.'

'I'm sure he does, but the Albus Dumbledore that I know would never do that,' Minerva replied evenly.

'Oh, I'm sure he wouldn't, not intentionally,' laughed Aberforth mirthlessly. 'But see, here's the problem: You, and the rest of the world, all believe that he's some sort of demi-god, some sort of perfect being, who can solve all of your problems. I'm sure that Albus won't _mean_ to betray you when he does, but that's just it. One of these days, you're going to realise that he's just a man, with all of the weaknesses of any other man on this earth, and believe me, it will be harder to forgive those human frailties than it would be to forgive any sort of intentional betrayal…'

'McGonagall, you'd better still be here,' barked Moody from down the hall. Minerva leapt to her feet, shaken, as the disgruntled Auror stomped into the pub.

'Everything alright?' she asked him, avoiding looking at Aberforth, who had gone back to smearing grease around the inside of his tankards with his dirty rag.

Moody opened his mouth, glanced at the bartender, and snapped his jaw shut angrily.

'I don't know why that man doesn't just run the entire Ministry,' he grumbled, putting a hand on Minerva's shoulder and steering her out of the pub. 'He just gave me information about one of our top secret programmes that I don't think most people who _should_ know about it have figured out yet…' Moody paused as he noticed Minerva waiting patiently for further explanation. 'Oh, for Merlin's sake, McGonagall, I am _not_ telling you what this programme is. It's far beyond your security level, which means that it's _definitely_ not legal for me to tell you about it.'

'You can't, but if Professor Dumbledore…'

'He won't, either,' Moody insisted with grim finality. 'He knows as well as I do that knowing anything about it whatsoever could put you and your family in incredible danger.'

'Speaking of my family, Moody, how are we getting back to London? Another Portkey?'

'Didn't have time to set a return Portkey, especially since I didn't know how long we'd be. Can't you Apparate?'

'Not legally, and certainly not all the way back to London. I'd have thought you'd have known.'

'Damn.' Moody scratched his head. 'Hadn't counted on that. I'd offer to have you go side-by-side, but I accidentally splinched my niece that way last summer. Not pretty. She's fine now, and a Healer told me that I can avoid doing it in the future by trying to calm down before Apparating anywhere, but… well, given how often I'm calm, I've been hesitant about risking it since. Can you take the train?'

'Moody, that takes hours.'

'You'll get home before dark,' said Moody unsympathetically, waving a hand at her impatiently. 'Look, I've got to be back at the Ministry in five minutes for a meeting that you absolutely cannot attend, and in all fairness, it would be an excellent thing if no-one knew we had even met Dumbledore just now, so you probably shouldn't come with me back to Westminster. Unless you can bully your way into using someone's Floo access, the train's the best I can do for you.'

As Minerva did not feel inclined to bully anyone into giving her Floo access, she instead accepted a few Sickles from Moody and boarded the next train back to London (which, fortunately, passed through Hogsmeade within minutes). Along the ride back, she continually nodded off, head bumping against the pane of her window and waking her from half-formed nightmares. Half an hour outside of London, the soft grey blanket of clouds overhead shattered into showers that mercilessly battered the already lush fields surrounding the train track.

By the time Minerva emerged from the Tube station in Stratford, drenched and exhausted as dusk fell, nothing sounded more appealing than a mug of hot tea and a good night's rest. The streets were sparsely populated with local Muggles, all a uniform grey in their war-rationed clothing and the dullness of the rain. Minerva walked as quickly as she could, clutching her Muggle hat to her head and cursing the rain for fogging her glasses. She slipped behind an enchanted wall and onto her magical cul-de-sac – and stopped dead in her tracks.

The door to her house had been blasted off its hinges and lay in the middle of the street, charred and gouged with what looked like magical scorch marks. Two older Aurors, both of whom Minerva vaguely recognised from the Ministry, stood over it, deep in some grave conversation. She jumped when she felt a hand fall on her shoulder, in part because the dizzying shock that had suddenly seized her had momentarily made her forget that she had a corporeal self at all.

'Thank goodness, here you are,' breathed Amelia Bones into her ear, propelling Minerva forward at a brisk pace. 'We tried to send an owl your way, but you didn't respond…'

'What's going on? Where's my husband?' Minerva demanded, now acutely aware that her heart was pounding almost impossibly fast.

'He's here, it's fine, no-one's hurt,' Bones reassured her as they entered the house past the shattered front window. 'And your mum's here, too, with the baby. You were the one who had everyone worried.'

Bones's point was proven moments later when they entered the kitchen, and everyone seated around the kitchen table immediately sprang to their feet.

'Oh, for heaven's sake, Minerva!'

'Where _were_ you?!'

'We were all fearing the worst…'

'Why didn't you answer our owls?'

'I'm _fine_ ,' Minerva reassured them, sitting down and letting Jeff press her hand in his. 'I… I unexpectedly had to rush out of town, to take care of something for work. And it took considerably longer to get back than I'd expected, that's all.'

'Well, you could have at least let us know…'

'I'm sorry, Mum, I would have, I'll try not to let it happen again.'

'Was this Moody's fault?' asked Akemi, scowling. 'Because he's been out of the office all afternoon, and if he's the one who's been communicating poorly about who's going where…'

'Not to mention, he can't just spontaneously tell you to go places on a moment's notice!' interrupted Augusta indignantly. 'What about little Perdita here? What would have happened if your mum hadn't been conveniently placed to take care of her?'

Minerva opened her mouth to argue that she wouldn't have gone if it hadn't been something seemingly important and infinitely more interesting than anything else she could have been doing with her day, but the words that came out of her mouth instead were, 'Is anyone going to tell me why my front door is lying in the middle of the street?'

'Someone tried to break into your house,' replied Bones. 'It triggered the magical wards, which alerted us, but the invader managed to resist them long enough to have gotten inside and then escape. No sign of whoever it was by the time we got here. Some of our forensics experts are out there right now, trying to identify the type of magic used to resist the wards for so long. We've checked the place over for lingering hexes or other traps, and everything's clear.'

'Our worst fear was that you had come home for some reason or another during the break-in, and confronted the perpetrator,' said Jeff quietly, his grip on Minerva's hand tightening ever so slightly.

'I don't suppose there was any indication as to _why_ anyone wanted to break into our house?' Minerva asked, her mouth slightly dry. 'I mean, couldn't this have been a common burglary?'

'Very unlikely.' Bones set her jaw grimly. 'After all, why would a common thief, upon setting off powerful magical wards, resist the wards and try to fight his way inside, rather than flee? No, whoever did this was looking for something, or someone.'

A moment of silence descended upon the table.

'Did… did the intruder take anything?' asked Pomona finally in a timid voice. 'Or, more importantly, was there anything that they might have found to be of interest?'

'Not that I know of,' said Jeff slowly, 'and frankly, I'm not sure that we have much worth the taking, although… Minerva?'

For Minerva had risen to her feet very suddenly and, disengaging her hand from her husband's, dashed to the living room, with the others trailing behind her in bewilderment. They found her staring at the side table next to the sofa, one fist pressed anxiously to her mouth.

'Your research,' muttered Jeff as he wrapped an arm around her, likewise eyeing the empty surface on which were usually stacked various newspapers, notepads, and the Translating Trifocals.

Minerva only nodded, a hundred terrifying premonitions rushing through her at once. Even if this had been a random break-in, conducted by someone trying to steal back Professor Bagolyi's memories or simply to investigate where she had been headed when murdered, the intruder now had clear evidence that she, Minerva, was collecting open source intelligence from continental Europe. And that could only increase the possibility of the next break-in being intentional…

'Damn it,' said Bones finally. 'Top security for you and your family, then, McGonagall. Unsearchable housing, Concealment Charms, maybe even a Fidelius Charm? I'll talk to Moody first thing in the morning about what resources the Auror Office has, and I promise we'll do whatever we can…'

'But how can you justify it to the rest of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?' asked Minerva weakly, grateful suddenly for the physical support that Jeff's arm was giving her. 'I'm not a Ministry employee right now, and if Moody had to explain to them what was taken, why it's dangerous, and why the Ministry owes me anything for the danger that it's put me in, he could lose his job…'

Bones scowled, and swore under her breath.

'Well, we're all here for you, for whatever that's worth,' Pomona insisted after a long moment.

'Absolutely,' Augusta chimed in, as Akemi nodded solemnly. 'Anything that we can do to help, we're here for you both.'

Minerva smiled falteringly at her friends' staunch loyalty, but felt a sinking terror in her stomach nonetheless. A gust of wind chilled by the rain whipped in through the shattered window, raising goose pimples along her arms and wafting in damply the residual reek of charred wood. With a shiver, she stared out into the dull, grey, rainy evening and realised that, in spite of her steadfast friends and the warmth of her husband's arm around her, she had never felt more vulnerable and isolated before in her life.

'I'm so sorry,' she told Jeff later that night, after everyone else had gone home except for the two Aurors who were now standing watch outside the magically-repaired window and door. It was past midnight, but Perdita had only just fallen asleep, having been especially fretful from all of the tension in the air.

'For what?' he insisted. 'For trying to make the world a better place?'

'For putting you in danger,' she snapped. 'You and our daughter, and probably all of our friends…'

'Stop it, Minerva,' Jeff said firmly. 'You haven't done anything wrong, other than scare us all half to death earlier today.'

Minerva sighed and rolled over so that her back was facing Jeff, trying to hold back tears and failing.

'I just feel so helpless,' she sighed softly. 'Like there's a huge target painted on my back for everyone to see. And I hate myself for marking you with it by association.'

'Well, living with a target painted on my back is nothing that I haven't experienced my entire life, anyway,' Jeff pointed out, an edge of bitterness creeping into his voice. 'I'll be fine, Minerva. Just promise me that you'll be fine, too.'

'What's that supposed to mean?' she demanded, rolling over to face him again.

'I mean that you should keep helping Moody try to end this war,' he said simply. 'It's not like we'll be any better off than we are now, if you stop. But you have to promise me that you won't do anything rash, in a fit of unwarranted guilt or an impulse to correct problems that weren't your doing.'

'You sound just like Moody,' grumbled Minerva.

'Then Moody's right,' Jeff insisted. 'In a purely logistical sense, you're much more use to the war effort alive and conducting research than captured or dead. And, on a personal level, I don't know what we would do without you.'

Minerva sniffed and wiped her cheek brusquely with the heel of her hand as Jeff gathered her to him. She wished she could forget everything for just a moment and simply drift into sleep, but she felt completely on edge, as if Dark wizards would come bursting in through the door of her bedroom at any moment. She imagined the scenario briefly, as if it were playing out before her on a Muggle film reel: what spells she would use to repel the attackers, how quickly she could move to shield Jeff, or whether it would be quicker to leap out of bed and position herself between the door and Perdita's crib, how many opponents she felt she could hold off at once…

'You know, I would kill to defend you or Perdita,' she said, surprising herself with the certainty with which she felt this. 'I don't say that lightly, and I hope it never comes to that, but it's absolutely true.'

'And I would die to defend you or Perdita,' Jeff answered seriously, kissing her lightly on the forehead.

Minerva exhaled slowly, feeling increasingly certain that she would not sleep a wink that night.

'Don't,' she said quietly.

'Obviously, I hope it never comes to that, either, but…'

'I mean it, Jeff. If things go terribly wrong, I need you to promise me that you won't try to rescue me.'

Jeff stared at her.

'You do realise how much I love you, don't you?'

'I do, and that's precisely why I hope you can understand why it would kill me if anything happened to either of you, because of me.'

'I'm a Healer. It's my job to save people.'

'Doesn't everyone say that Healers should never try to save people whom they know personally, though? That too many emotions can potentially get in the way for them to do their job properly?'

'Well, then maybe the same rule should apply to Aurors and killing for people whom they love.' Jeff brushed a strand of hair out of Minerva's eyes. 'Honestly, we should try to get a few hours of sleep. I promise that everything will seem more manageable in the morning. Besides, we'll probably have to spend all day tomorrow moving house to goodness knows where, and you said you trusted those two Aurors outside to keep us safe for at least tonight.'

Minerva nodded. She didn't know Scrimgeour and Shacklebolt all that well, but they both had reputations as dependable and diligent Aurors, even though they were both only a few years older than her own unruly peers. Nonetheless, she was still amazed that Jeff was able to fall into a light sleep only a few minutes later, given that her own mind was still reeling. She lay awake for at least another quarter of an hour, listening to him breathing and watching the shadows of leaves sway in a patch of streetlight cast upon her ceiling, until she at last began to doze as well.

_He never actually promised me anything, and I never actually promised him anything, either_ , Minerva reflected detachedly as she slipped into another night of uneasy dreams. But there would be time for that in the morning, too. She was certain of that, almost.


End file.
